


Impostor Syndrome

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Blood, Mira HQ (Among Us), Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Polus (Among Us), Protective Black (Among Us), Protectiveness, Self-Destruction, The Skeld (Among Us), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Purple is the baby of the Skeld Crew. The youngest officer on board the ship. Inexperienced. Bubbly and happy and eager to help.Black is a senior Impostor. Deadly. Dangerous. This is hardly the first mission they've been on and it is far from the hardest.The last crewmate is dead.Now it's just the two of them.
Relationships: Black & Purple (Among Us), Crewmate & Crewmate (Among Us), Crewmate & Impostor (Among Us), Purple & Yellow (Among Us)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 221





	1. Purple: The Skeld, Electrical

**Author's Note:**

> I have no defense this just sprung into my mind and would not leave me alone

_Green was not An Impostor._

Purple stiffens. Their fingers freeze, trembling, outstretched toward the window as their crewmate drifts slowly into the cold endless vacuum of space. Behind their helmet, their eyes widen in horror as the text blips cheerfully across the screen.

They were wrong. It wasn’t Green.

And now…

_One Impostor remains._

They—oh god. Oh _god,_ they’d been wrong. Poor Green, oh no, Green was _dead,_ Green—Green had been murdered too. They murdered Green.

There was one Impostor left. And—and—

Black shifts beside them and in an instant they’re off. Their boots hit the ground mercilessly, pounding far too loudly to be considered even remotely stealthy as they tear out of the room. Run. _Run._ Just—

God, where are they supposed to go? The Skeld is not a big ship. There are very few places to run and even fewer places to hide. The Skeld is _tiny._ Doesn’t matter. Just run. Get away. Get to an escape pod, get to somewhere, just—

Electrical. Electrical is a death trap. They’d never expect someone to hide in a death trap.

Purple skids around the corner, their knee smashing into a sharp corner on the end of one of the panels, their hip into another. They barely falter as they dive into the depths of buzzing machines. There’s a hiding place here. One of the few they know of. Sucking in as much air as they can, they crawl into the thin gap between the distributors and the wall, wedging their helmet in and curling into a ball. They press themselves as far against the wall as they can and _freeze_.

How could they have been so _stupid?_

It wasn’t Green, of _course_ it hadn’t been Green. Sweet, friendly Green who was better with a wrench than the whole crew. Green, who’d been keeping a lid on the reactor so well that the others never even had to _worry_ about it. Green, who made the best dang hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows and as much whip cream as they could ever dream of.

Why had they—how could they have been so stupid to believe that it had been Green, when—when—

“Oh, Purple~”

Purple just manages to suppress a whine as Black’s voice calls from outside. Black’s voice rumbles through their bones, through their heart, right through the walls of the ship. Breathe through the mouth, the nose whistles. Stay calm. Stay quiet. And above all else, _do not move._

Soft footsteps come from the entrance to Electrical. Purple freezes, ears straining to hear the faintest sounds as—

As Black starts to walk into the room.

They’re almost _silent_ as they move, only the faintest groaning from the Skeld’s awful girders giving them away. Purple squeezes their eyes shut in the near darkness, hoping it will _somehow_ make it easier to hear. The Lights Panel…the vent in the corner, the wiring panel, just _go away…_

The footsteps stop.

Purple’s breath catches in their throat.

The girders let out a low whine as a heavy weight shifts right next to the distributors.

They squeeze their eyes shut tighter.

_Let it be too dark. The lighting in Electrical is awful. My suit is a darker color. I’m curled up too small. They can’t see me. They can’t see me._

“Hey.”

Purple’s eyes snap open. Black is there. Crouched on the ground, one of their knees just touching the wall. They tilt their head and give a little wave. Black is here, Black is—oh god, no—

“You know, you’re a quick little thing when you wanna be,” Black remarks casually, as if they _aren’t_ about to split Purple in half, “barely had time to get up before you were outta there.”

Black is going to _kill_ them, they’re going to get hurt, it’s going to hurt, being ripped in half hurts, oh god—

“Didn’t know about this spot back here, you hide in here before?” Black taps the side of the panel they’d wedged themselves behind. “Tight fit, isn’t it? With your bulky suit?”

Can they—they can’t reach back here, can they? If—if they just stay here, if they’re safe back here then—then—

“Can’t be comfortable…looks like you’re all bunched up there…” Black tilts their head again. “You know, it’s pretty hard to have a conversation if only one of us is talking.”

_Hah._

Purple doesn’t move.

“Come on, I can _see_ you, it’s not like you’re invisible back there.”

Still nothing.

Black sighs, the girders groaning. Purple flinches back into the wall, they’re going to grab them, they’re going to—

In hindsight, Black was probably just shifting their weight, or easing a cramp in their side, but in that moment, Purple’s vision fills with a huge gaping maw of tentacles primed to rip them in half. They flinch back against the wall, stifling a whimper.

Black stops, having moved barely an inch. “So you can make noise after all. Good. Was wondering why you were being so quiet.”

_Is…are they serious?_

“Why don’t you come out here,” Black says, “might be easier than trying to talk through all these wires.”

No, thank you.

“No? You don’t wanna come out?” Black taps the panel again. “That _can’t_ be comfy, babe, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you stay like that for too long.”

_Better than what’s gonna happen to me if I come out._

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Purple, I just want to talk.”

Unbidden, Purple scoffs.

“What,” Black says, the smile evident in their voice, “you don’t believe me? Look, full disclosure—“

Purple scrambles as Black starts to reach into the space. They scrunch up as small as they can, shying away from the hand reaching further and further, wedging themselves away.

Black’s hand pats the ground just shy of their leg, right where they would’ve been if they hadn’t somehow climbed up the wall.

“I can’t fit back there,” Black calls softly, “but you can’t hold yourself up there forever. Eventually, you’re gonna need to rest.”

They can reach them. They can—oh god, they can reach—

  
“I told you—“ the hand retreats— “I’m not here to hurt you, babe, I just need to talk to you a little. I’m happy to do that like this, but you _will_ hurt yourself if you stay back there much longer.”

They’re right, Purple realizes with dismay, as the Skeld’s horrible wiring starts to cut into their suit. If they stay back here like this much longer, their suit will be compromised.

Black is still crouched right by the opening.

“Look, you want me to leave, you want me to raise my hands and take tens steps back, I can do that, no problem, but you gotta come out of there, Purple.”

Purple swallows heavily.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Black repeats, “and I’m not going to kill you either, if that makes any difference.”

They glance over their shoulder and then back at Purple.

“We’ve got a few choices. Either you come out and we talk, we talk and _then_ you come out, or you stay back there until the ship eats into your suit and then you’ll _have_ to come out.”

Black’s right. Purple has to move. Their arms are already shaking from the strain of holding themselves up. Their knee and hip are throbbing. The bruises are gonna be _huge,_ they can already tell. Panic courses through their veins, making them tremble even more.

“You’re shaking, babe,” Black calls softly, tinged with something that _might_ be concern, “come on, come on out here…”

Slowly, _so_ slowly, Purple starts to move.

They lower themselves to the ground first, wincing when their arm slips and they crash down hard on their side. They turn over onto all fours.

Black gasps.

Purple startles horribly. Their helmet crashes into a big metal knob as they whip their head around to look at Black.

“Jeez, babe,” they chuckle, “you’re jumpy.”

_They did that on purpose._

Purple tries to move only to slam their helmet against the knob again.

Black hisses. “Ouch,” they murmur, “you okay?”

Purple nods before they can stop themselves, adjusting slowly, slowly, to avoid jarring their already bruised body, crouched in a huddle at the far end of the gap. Black cocks their head and makes a coaxing noise.

“You can do it, babe, it’s okay. You just gotta get over that clump of wires, yeah?”

The smoothness of Black’s voice cuts through some of the panic in a way that _shouldn’t_ feel as warm and reassuring as it does. Purple crawls forward, their bulky suit jamming and catching in too many nooks and crannies for it to be anywhere near dignified.

“You’re doing great,” Black soothes as getting snagged makes an indignant whine escape Purple’s helmet, “you’re almost there, just gotta wiggle through this last part. Come on, now…”

Their helmet is so clunky and horrible. It gets stuck on several knobs and ports as they try and get around the back. Their head jostles roughly from side to side. Their knee catches a big thing of metal. Something digs into their hip. Their hand flails around in front of them for something to grab and pull.

_Finally._

They can feel the rough shag carpet of the cheap industrial floor through their gloves as they claw their way out. They pull their boot from the gap and overbalance, sprawling out in an ungainly heap, panting. _God,_ they’d forgotten how hard it was to get out of there.

“Tired?”

_Black._ Purple scrambles, flattening themselves against the wall, grabbing for something, anything to get further away from _the Impostor still crouched a few feet away._

They’re out in the open now. There’s nothing to stop Black from ripping Purple apart. Oh god. Oh, god.

“Hey, uh-uh,” Black says, reaching out to pry Purple’s trembling fingers off the distributors, “don’t want you to rip those out with all that shaking.”

Maybe it’s the fact that the gap was so narrow, or the fact that Purple’s literally at Black’s feet, but…they don’t remember Black being so… _big._

Black _towers_ over them, almost blocking out the dim light in the ceiling. Their gloved hand encases Purple’s, their shaking fingers disappearing into darkness. The empty space of Black’s helmet stares down at them. Purple can’t look away. Any moment something will appear, some horrible mouth, some shining eye in the darkness, something that will be the last thing they see before they die.

Black’s hand moves toward their face.

Their eyes slam shut.

_Click. Click. Hissssssssss._

Their helmet comes off with a smooth wave of cool air, lifted off with barely any effort. Oh god.

Something soft touches their cheek. Presses down gently to stroke along the curve of their face.

“Why’re you crying, babe?” comes that too soft, too smooth, too concerned voice.

Black’s glove glistens slightly as they hold it up for Purple to see. Purple’s own hand flies to their cheek, swiping angrily. They didn’t deserve those tears. Those were _private._

“Hey, hey,” Black says, “don’t do that, these things are rough, you’re gonna—oh, you poor thing, you’ve rubbed your cheek raw already.”

Purple doesn’t care. They’ll rub their entire face raw if they want. Black isn’t going to get any more of their tears.

Only for their cheek to sting as more come.

“Here,” Black says again, their hand lifting, “let me…”

It’s only the fact that Purple is all but half-pinned under them that they can only jerk back a little when Black reaches for their face.

Black’s gloves, which should be as rough and space-worn as Purple’s, are surprisingly gentle as they dab away Purple’s tears. When they’ve dabbed up a good number, Black looks at their fingers, rubbing them together thoughtfully.

“There’s no need for these,” they say, looking back up, “you don’t—oh. Oh, _look_ at you…”

Purple’s heart jumps to their throat and they gasp as Black’s hand settles back on their cheek, cupping the side of their face. _God,_ their hand is almost as _big_ as their face…

One of their fingers gently twists around and around the curl hanging next to their damp cheek, settling it back into position. They move to the other side, the hair softly flicking against the edge of their suit. The hand moves to the back of their head, gently tugging their hair free.

“Do you believe me now?”

“What?” Purple’s voice is an awful strangled whisper.

“Do you believe me now,” Black repeats, “that I’m not gonna hurt you?”

Despite their still heaving chest, despite the fear they _know_ is still written plainly over every inch of them, Purple presses their lips together in a hard line.

Black sighs. “Babe, I don’t know what else I can do. You gotta work with me here.”

Purple swallows heavily, their throat bone dry. “I’m not running, am I?”

“If you could run sprawled out on your back,” Black says wryly, “I’d be very impressed.”

Right. They’re on the ground, belly-up, Black crouched over them. If they just moved a little they could pin Purple to the floor with barely any effort.

“But that’s true,” Black continues, their voice softening, “you’re not running. That’s something, huh?”

Their head tilts.

“ _Not that you’d get very far again.”_

Purple’s blood runs cold.

For long seconds, nothing in Electrical breathes.

Then Black chuckles.

“Had to do at least one of those,” they say, shifting a little, “couldn’t resist. Never was much for the whole big scary thing. But it has its moments, don’t you think?”

That was…a joke?

“Come on, babe, you were talking just fine a moment ago,” Black coaxes, “let me hear that pretty voice.”

If possible, Purple flinches even more.

“No? Flattery not working on you?” Black shrugs. “That’s okay. Not really my style anyway.”

Purple _knows_ their face is doing all sorts of things right now. Fear, anger, disgust, guilt, regret, all burn in their gut. Black tilts their head.

“Calm down, Purple. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You want—“ Purple’s voice wavers— “you want me to _calm down?_ ”

Black’s head moves again. “Yeah, Purple, I want you to calm down. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m not gonna kill you, I just wanna talk to you. And I know you’re not gonna listen to a word I say until you’re not so wound up.”

Purple’s face twitches, clenching their fists to stop their hands from shaking. “My—my apologies, _”_ they pant, “but I’m afraid that’s going to be a little d-difficult for me right—right now.”

“I don’t see what’s so hard about it,” Black says casually, as if they’re talking about what food to order next, or who has to go empty the chute, “just calm down.”

If this were any other scenario, or if Purple’s throat wasn’t iced over, they’d’ve laughed.

“I mean, it’s in your best interest to calm down, really,” Black continues, leaning forward a little more and kneeling on the ground, “one, because it’s not good for humans to have so many stressors running through them at once. Two…”

They prop their arms up on their raised knee.

“If you won’t calm down…then there’s no point in talking to you, is there?”

Purple’s eyes widen. They—they need to calm down. They need to—oh _god,_ they need to calm down. They need to calm down. They need to—

As one can imagine, becoming more stressed about needing to calm down is a truly delicious irony.

Because Purple is going to die, ripped in half, eaten on the stupid shag carpet of this cheap, horrible ship, because they can’t calm down.

Black moves.

Purple is frozen.

Their hand reaches out, one finger coming up to gently poke Purple’s knee.

“I’m teasing.”

“Y-you’re—“ Purple gasps, “you’re _what?_ ”

“Teasing,” Black says softly, “I’m teasing you, Purple.”

“O-oh.”

“Never been teased before?”

“It, uh, i-it’s been a while.”

The dull red light from the power grid glints off of Black’s helmet as their head moves.

“I know you’re scared, babe,” Black murmurs, voice so overflowing with concern it almost makes them relax, “you should see your eyes, they’re _giant._ And you’re allowed to be scared, this is scary.”

Which…might be the understatement of the century.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” comes that voice again, “and I’m not gonna kill you. I know you don’t believe me—which is understandable, by the way,” they add, raising their hands a little, “but do you believe that I’m not gonna hurt you or kill you right _now?_ ”

The curl on the left side of Purple’s face flops out of their suit.

“Okay,” Black says, “that’s fair. Here…”

They reach behind themselves, pulling something from behind their back—

“Easy,” Black murmurs as Purple scrambles away from the knife, “I’m gonna put this over here, okay?”

Purple’s eyes never leave the blade as it comes to rest on the other side of the room. Even as Black kneels back down, their eyes barely snap away for more than an instant.

“Hey,” Black calls softly, “Purple, look at me.”

Black’s helmet is so _dark._

“See?” Their hands spread wide. “No weapons. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you right now. The knife is all the way over there. It can’t hurt you.”

It may be their imagination, but Purple can all but _feel_ Black’s gaze trace the roll of their throat.

“You gotta breathe, babe, you’re panicking right now,” Black coaxes, “you need oxygen, you can breathe in here, it’s not sabotaged—“

_Of course it had been sabotage. Had they done that with the reactor too? Is that why Green—_

Oh god _Green._

“Stay with me Purple.”

Purple blinks. Black’s hovering closer, their head tilted in concern.

“There you are,” they murmur as Purple’s gaze fixes back on them, “you just keep looking at me, okay?”

Purple swallows again. Their body is frozen. They can’t breathe.

“ _Breathe,_ babe, come on, I know you’re scared, but you have to breathe.”

A cold draft ices down the back of their suit and they jerk.

“I know, babe, I know, it’s cold, but you gotta try for me, okay?”

They’re cold. Space is so cold. So cold and so lonely. Purple wants to curl up somewhere dark and small and safe and be told everything’s okay. They want warm arms around them, to be held, to be _protected._ Purple still can’t breathe.

“Shh, shh,” Black soothes when Purple whines, “you’re gonna be okay, babe, just _breathe…”_

They’re frozen, unable to move as Black reaches forward, gathering them up, right into Black’s arms. This is so, so _stupid_ and they know the Impostor’s mouth is somewhere in their chest, they’re basically _asking_ to get eaten and the Impostors don’t need a knife to kill their prey and they’re so _scared_ and Black has been so _nice_ and—

“Shh, shh, easy, baby, easy,” Black croons, their hands coming up to cradle Purple effortlessly, “you’re scared right now, it’s okay, it’s okay, you just take some deep breaths and calm down, yeah?”

A dam breaks. Purple’s breaths are coming in great, whooping gasps and they curl up as small as they can, if they shut their eyes tight it’s just like someone is hugging them, that’ll make everything go away.

Electrical will be gone, the Skeld will be gone, space will be gone.

“Match your breathing to mine, baby, shh, slow it down…” Black takes big exaggerated breaths, gently rubbing circles in between Purple’s shoulder blades. “It’s okay, I’ve gotcha, you’re okay.”

Everything is scary. Everything is so scary and Purple is so scared and they can’t do anything right—

Everyone is dead. Everyone is dead and it’s all Purple’s fault and now they’re never going to get home and they’re going to be alone and scared in the cold darkness of space and everything is so scary—

“That’s it,” Black murmurs again as Purple starts to sob desperately into Black’s shoulder, “get it out, baby, better out than in.”

Faintly it occurs to Purple that this must be quite the strange sight, mustn’t it? An Impostor tenderly cradling a sobbing crewmate truly a third of their size in their lap, hushing them softly as they would a scared animal or a child. And yet, here they are, in the dim light of Electrical, curling into Black.

Eventually, the sobs taper off as Purple’s grief spills into a well in between them, raising their hands blearily to wipe their eyes.

“Hey, hm-mm,” Black murmurs, catching their hand effortlessly, “gloves, remember? Let me…”

As gloved fingers pat way too gently at Purple’s face, the icy fear begins to coil in their gut again. This—what is going on? Why…why aren’t they dead? Why does Black want to talk?

“You’re thinking, aren’t you?” Black’s fingers dab one last tear away. “You think you’re about ready to listen now?”

Right. The reality of the situation slams into Purple again.

“Hey,” Black calls, giving them a light squeeze, “you don’t have to be completely not scared yet, baby, you just gotta have your head on enough to listen.”

Purple nods, trying to move only to hit their knee against the wall and flinch.

“Whoa, easy.” Black steadies them in their lap. “You hurt?”

“…banged my knee,” Purple manages, jerking their head toward the offending sharp corner.

Black hisses in sympathy. “We should get that looked at.”

Ice settles in the pit of Purple’s gut and _burns._

“Purple,” Black calls softly, “you just cried your pretty little heart out in my lap, I think we may be a little far past the point of embarrassment.”

They tilt their head, considering them.

“…ah,” they say after a moment, “that’s a different type of scary, hm?”

Purple nods.

“Okay. So we won’t do that. Even though you _should_ have a look at that. Did you get banged up anywhere else?” Their hand cups the back of Purple’s neck, politely ignoring the way it tenses. “I know you hit your head a few times coming out of that gap.”

“…hip.”

“Your hip? Alright, that’s not too bad, the helmet take most of the brunt?”

Purple nods.

Black lets their neck go, their thumb rubbing soothing circles into their side as their other hand settles on Purple’s unbruised hip.

“I shouldn’t have teased you,” Black murmurs, “that was cruel.”

“Yes,” Purple mumbles, twisting their hands together, “yes, it was.”

Black gives them a soft squeeze. “Did that help at all? Getting it all out?”

That, yes, and the fact that, true to their word, Black hadn’t hurt them. Not in the slightest.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” Black echoes as if they can hear Purple’s thoughts, “and I still won’t. I—“

“—just want to talk,” Purple finishes, “I know.”

They squeeze their eyes shut and take a deep breath.

“Just…give me a minute, please.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Purple breathes. Focuses on the feeling of their suit around them, the cool air blowing on their face. Feels their legs piled beneath them, pulled as they are onto Black’s lap. Feels Black’s thumbs stroking tenderly over their hips, even carefully avoiding the bruised areas.

They’re all dead. It’s just Purple now. And here they are, Black’s teeth practically at their throat, and still, they breathe. If nothing else, Purple needs to find out why.

“Okay,” Purple mumbles, “okay, we can talk now.”


	2. Purple: The Skeld, Medbay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purple is still alive. Why? And why isn't Black trying to kill them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so fun fact: two of my friends read the first chapter and were like 'why does Black sound like you why do they have your voice do we need to have a talk' 
> 
> hahahahah no, babes. I'd tell you if I were the Impostor. 
> 
> Promise ;)

As Purple says so, however, they shift awkwardly and their hip sears white-hot.

“Whoa, whoa,” Black soothes as they struggle to stifle a whimper, “hey, hey, hey, we need to get you to med bay before you get hurt anymore.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Babe,” Black says gently, “it’s clearly not fine.” When they don’t say anything for a moment, Black sighs. “Can we at least get you _to_ the med bay?”

“…fine.”

“Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Easy does it, now,” Black says softly as they start to stand, “there we go…”

Purple clutches Black’s suit to keep their balance, wobbling slightly on legs that don’t quite want to support their weight. Black cups their elbow and smooths out some of the wrinkles in their suit.

“We can either go the long way or the short way,” they murmur as they hand Purple their helmet.

  
Purple takes it nervously. “Why would I want to go the long way?”

“Because,” Black says softly, “since the body was reported, it hasn’t been moved.”

_Orange’s body is still in the engine room._

_Orange._

_Oh, god—_

“Purple.” Black’s hand waves in front of their face. “Purple?”

“I’m here,” they blurt out, their knuckles turning white on their helmet, “I’m here.”

“Good. Let’s take you the long way, hmm?”

“…yes, please.”

Black’s grip is surprisingly gentle as they walk Purple out of Electrical, through storage, the cafeteria, through the hallway to med bay.

“Right here,” they say, easing Purple down onto the closest bed, “I’ll grab the stuff, okay? You said it was just a bruise?”

“…I think so.”

“Alright.” Black gives their shoulder a pat before walking across the room.

Purple stays on the bed, right where Black deposited them. An uneasy calm settles over their mind as Black rummages around for the supplies.

Normality can be one heck of a drug, it seems.

Black is an Impostor.

Their entire crew is dead.

Purple is still alive for some reason they can’t explain for the life of them.

They’re injured.

Black is helping them.

“Here,” Black says, setting bandages, bruise cream, and bandage tape on the table next to them, “that should be everything.”

Purple just nods.

There’s a moment of silence.

“I’m gonna be outside,” Black says eventually, still far too soft for what _should_ be happening, “okay?”

They leave with one last pat to Purple’s shoulder. 

The doors hiss closed and Purple shudders, breathing out so sharply it feels like their chest is about to break open. Their fingers splay out on the bed as they struggle to remain upright.

God.

_God,_ they’re alone on this ship with an _Impostor._

Whatever pleasant haze they were in when Black was still here clears in an instant and panic claws at their throat. _God._ And they had no chance to be some strong, unassailable, here’s-the-deal type of person either.

Why didn’t they just keep a lid on all of this when it _first_ happened? They could’ve turned to Black and been like ‘you won’t get away with this, you still need me alive, so let’s come to an agreement.’ They could’ve gotten a _proper promise_ that they wouldn’t be hurt, that they could dispose of their crew with dignity. They could’ve _kept_ their dignity.

No.

No, they had to scramble away like a frightened _child_ and cower behind a panel in Electrical. They whimpered and squealed and trembled like a pig that didn’t want to go to the slaughter. They blubbered and clung to the Impostor like a _baby._

The Impostor knows they’re scared out of their mind.

And they’re waiting.

Purple starts to struggle out of their suit, shivering in the cool air of med bay. Sure enough, their knee is splotched with red and purple, warm to the touch, already throbbing. Their hip isn’t much better, making it difficult to twist and turn to get the rest of their suit off. Goosebumps prickle along their arms as they reach out for the bruise cream. Their fingers shake so badly that getting the lid off takes an eternity.

“Come on, come _on—“_

_There._ The cream is cold too as they apply it sloppily over their bruises. Flecks of it get on their suit and their under-suit but eventually, they manage to smear it in the right place. Getting up clumsily, they wobble over to the sink to wash their hands off. The water is cold too.

Getting the bandages on is a whole other ordeal. They can’t find the scissors to cut the gauze pads so they end up ripping them to the right size and holding them in place while they fumble for the tape.

“Just _rip,_ come on—“ the tape slides through their fingers and clatters to the floor—“oh— _jeez._ ”

They look around, reaching for the drawer. There has to be a pair of scissors somewhere, right?

They pull the drawer open and freeze.

A row of scalpels gleams in the bright light. Blade after blade after blade, their points sharp.

Purple’s fingers itch.

The material against their wrists becomes uncomfortably rough.

The very tops of their thighs start to tingle.

_Nope._

The drawer shuts with a _clang_ as Purple collapses back down onto the bed, breathing heavily. They close their eyes and take a few deep breaths.

_Impostors can smell blood._

They take one more breath in and raise the tape to their mouth, using their teeth to tear off the strips they need. They smooth their hand over the bandages to make sure there aren’t any air bubbles.

“Okay, okay…okay.”

They take another deep breath and square their shoulders.

Okay.

They’re gonna go out there and Black is going to tell them what’s going on. They’re going to figure out what Black wants. If Black wants to…to find another ship, fine. If Black wants to go somewhere, that’s fine. If Black wants Purple to take an escape pod, that’s fine.

Purple will tell them that they need to take care of their crew mates’s bodies. Purple will say they need to turn the ship’s hazard lights on to warn other ships to stay away. Purple will find out why they’re still alive.

They nod decisively to themselves and start pulling their suit back on. This is good. This is better. They won’t run away scared anymore.

Their strides to the door are steady. They press the button next to the door. The doors hiss open.

As soon as Black’s helmet turns to look at them, Purple’s blood runs cold again.

“There you are,” they say in that voice that still seems to vibrate through Purple’s chest, “you okay?”

And Purple can only nod.

“Good.” Black inclines their head toward the cafeteria. “Why don’t we talk in there?”

The words buzzing out of simultaneous anger and fear are caught just under Purple’s tongue as Black’s hand gently takes their arm again to lead them into the cafeteria. As they near the table, Black lets go and takes a seat opposite them.

Purple’s hands twist together under the table. The…the last time they were here—was it really only like…half an hour ago?

Green was alive.

They killed Green here.

A-and Orange was dead.

And Cyan, and Brown, and White, and Lime, and Blue, and Red, and Pink—

“Purple?”

Purple’s gaze snaps up to see Black looking at them, their head tilted. They look—they look _far_ too casual for what was going on. Their elbow propped up on their leg, knees spread, leaning against the table.

_Well,_ some hysterical part of Purple’s brain thought, _not what’s going on for them._

“Do you want to go somewhere else,” they ask quietly, “this…room may not be great for you right now.”

“No,” Purple manages around the lump in their throat, “no. This is fine.”

Black nods. “Okay.”

Purple just manages to keep themselves still when Black shifts.

“So. I’m sure you have questions.”

  
They did. Purple definitely did have questions. They worked all of them out in med bay before putting their suit back on.

Questions that disappeared right into the empty void of Black’s helmet, leaving only the distant buzzing of fear that was blanketed with a soft haze as soon as Black started talking.

What is _wrong_ with them?

“Why am I still alive?”

Black’s head tilts a little as Purple’s voice wavers. “That’s where you wanna start?”

“I don’t know…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Black shifts again. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were doing something wrong.”

“…am I?”

“Oh, babe,” Black murmurs under their breath before raising their voice. “No, Purple, you’re not doing anything wrong.”

Black glances toward Weapons.

“Why don’t we do this,” they say quietly as they turn back, “I’m going to explain why I’m here, and then we’ll get to why I’m not gonna hurt you, yeah?”

Purple nods.

Black turns a little, straightening. “What do you know about Impostors?”

Swallowing a lump in their throat, Purple straightens too. “I know that they’re one of the first things new crew members get warned about. I know they can survive in the vacuum of space for longer than we can. I know that they—they can shape-shift?”

Black nods. “Anything else?”

“…I know that they kill crew members by ripping them in half.”

“Alright. That’s a good basis.” Black folds their hands on the table. “But you don’t know anything about where Impostors come from, or why we infiltrate your ships?”

Purple shakes their head.

“Hmm.”

“…are you going to tell me?”

Black nods.

“Okay.”

“We aren’t actually called Impostors,” Black says, “that’s just what humans have chosen to call us.”

_Makes sense._

“About eighty years ago, humans began a mining operation on a planet they called Polus,” Black says, “under the assumption that it was uninhabited. They extracted valuable resources and shipped them across the galaxy.”

“…it’s not uninhabited,” Purple whispers, “is it?”

“No. It’s our home.”

A wave of nausea rolls up Purple’s throat. They—they had no _idea—_

People hadn’t _looked_ properly? How—how did they—how did no one—

“We tried to stop the mining,” Black continues, oblivious to Purple’s growing sickness, “but we were destroyed. Colonies of us were wiped out. Now there’s only a few of us left.”

“I’m so sorry,” Purple whispers, “I—I—that’s _awful._ ”

Black pauses. Their head tilts.

“…we infiltrated your systems through the ships, one at a time, to stop them from transporting. We thought if we could make it too much of a risk, then you would stop.”

“B-but it didn’t stop,” Purple says, “it just—we—“

Black nods when Purple can’t finish their sentence. “Humanity didn’t care about the cost. Only that they could make a profit off of our planet.”

Black’s voice darkens and a shiver runs down Purple’s spine.

“And they call _us_ monsters.”

“That’s not new,” Purple murmurs, “corporations have been willing to kill and sacrifice people for profit for as long as—well, forever.”

The lights in the cafeteria buzz overhead.

Purple looks at Black. “How do we get you home?”

Black moves back a little, their head cocked to the side. Purple feels a gaze travel up and down their body.

“…I redirect the Skeld to Polus,” Black says eventually, “on account of critical system failure. If we are hailed for a change in course, you radio in explaining that you do not have the capacity to fulfill your assigned mission and you must make an emergency stop. You use your credentials to secure us permission to land at the Polus outpost.”

“What do I do if they ask about the rest of the crew?”

“You explain that you have already suffered many oxygen system failures and reactor meltdowns, which is the truth, and that it is very, very easy to die in space.”

Purple’s hands tense under the table. “O-okay.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Black sits back. “This isn’t uncommon, so the comms operators will accept your story without much questioning.”

Cold races through Purple’s chest. Right. Who knows _how_ many times Black has done this? How many crews?

“What—“

Black tilts their head when Purple cuts themselves off. “What…?”

“…what do you normally do with the crew members you leave alive?”

“It varies.”

_Oh, god._

“But normally I lock them in their quarters under the excuse of quarantine from the reactor so they can’t try and kill me.”

“…are you going to lock me in my room?”

“No.”

“…why?”

Black lets out a laugh. “Because you’re not gonna hurt me.”

“How do you know that?”

As soon as the words leave their mouth, Purple bites their tongue so hard they wince. Across the table, Black stills. Red light glints off their helmet as their head tilts.

“Stand up.”

Purple freezes to the seat as Black uncoils from the bench, standing up slowly until their helmet blocks out the light. Their boots hit the ground as they step away from the table. They cock their head.

“Stand up, babe.”

Purple holds onto the table for as long as they can, standing up slowly.

“Come here.”

One shaking step forward.

“I said _come_ _here._ ”

They wobble closer, trying to lock their knees and stop trembling, their hands balled into fists. The top of their helmet barely comes up to Black’s collarbone. Black stares at them. A hand flashes up.

Purple flinches.

The hand pauses, then slowly cups the side of their head. Purple’s breaths ring and echo harshly around the inside of their helmet. Before they can blink, Black catches them up in their arms and tips them over into a sweeping dip, balancing Purple’s weight effortlessly on their knee. A low chuckle comes from under the helmet as Purple _squeaks_ in surprise, their hands clutching frantically at Black, scrabbling for any kind of hold.

“Just relax,” Black soothes, tightening their grip on a shaking Purple, “I won’t let you fall.”

Purple tries, their fingers finally finding purchase around Black’s neck. True to their word, Black holds them steady, tilted back, their entire body off the floor. Slowly, their breathing starts to settle. They’re not hurt. They’re just…being held.

“I know you’re not gonna hurt me,” Black murmurs, “first because you’re still real scared, aren’t you? Shh-shh-shh,” they say quickly when Purple’s fingers tense, “that’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared.

“Second…” Black gives them a gentle squeeze. “…you’re not exactly hard to stop, Purple.”

Well, if _this_ little display is any indication, no, absolutely not.

“And last, well.” Black’s hands slide over Purple’s suit, turning the half-pin restraint into something gentler, cradling them in their arms. “The first thing you did when I told you the truth was apologize for something that wasn’t your fault, and ask how you could help.”

Black pauses, then slowly starts to sit them back up.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Purple, and I’m not gonna hurt you,” they say softly, “I’m not going to lock you in your room either.”

They set Purple gently back on the ground, keeping a grip on their hips until Purple can stand. They tilt their head to look at Purple as they kneel on the ground.

“I think you knew that, though, didn’t you?” Purple nods. “Just had to say it, huh?”

Purple nods miserably.

“Hey,” Black says, gently knuckling the side of their helmet, “you don’t have to pretend, baby, not with me. There’s no one else here. You don’t have to put on a brave face if you don’t want to, no one’s gonna judge you for doing something wrong.”

A tiny, traitorous, squishy part of Purple that thrust them into Black’s arms earlier blossoms warmly in their chest and opens their mouth.

“…promise?”

“I promise.”

“…okay.”

“Yeah?” Black chuckles when Purple nods, standing. “Alright. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Uh—I don’t know?”

Black nods. “You get something to eat, then. I’m going to go chart the course for Polus and then I’ll be back.”

“Can we—“ Purple cuts themselves off but it’s too late. Black’s already turning around.

“Can we…?”

“Never mind.”

“You can tell me, baby.”

“Never _mind.”_

Black shrugs. “Alright. Get something to eat.”

Purple doesn’t watch them leave. Their gaze is trained on the corridor to the engine room. As soon as the door to Weapons closes, they start walking.

Upper Engine.

Reactor.

Security.

Right before they cross the threshold to Lower Engine, they take a deep breath. This wasn’t the first body they’d had to dispose of, and, well, they were no stranger to blood.

They round the corner and stop.

Orange’s body lies on its side, a dark pool of blood spilled beneath it. It’s partially wedged under the engine, the helmet cracked but not broken. It’s not like some of the other bodies, mangled in half, pieces strewn about, or displayed in some gory masterpiece. It’s just a body. If Purple tries hard enough, they can convince themselves that Orange’s still fine.

At least until they look down and see the gunshot in their chest and the many stab wounds in their abdomen.

There’s a trail of blood leading from the fuel canister.

_They didn’t die quickly._

Somehow, as Purple approaches the body and starts looking for Orange’s ID and comm badge, the fact that the body is so intact is…worse. Because they can tell it’s _Orange._

Orange, who was the best damn shot on the whole ship. Orange, who knew how to keep the weapons hot and made sure the asteroids never got within short-range sensors. Orange, who told the stories that made everyone warm in the cold vacuum of space.

Purple’s fingers tremble as they go to unlatch the comm badge from Orange’s chest. It slumps slightly, a direct mirror to the brown stain of the wound. Purple’s brow furrows beneath their helmet as they struggle with the material of the suit.

It comes off into their gloved hand with a low _clink._

Purple looks up to meet their reflection in the cracked front of Orange’s helmet. The only noise is the rumble of the engine, chugging relentlessly through the cold darkness of space.

“I’m sorry,” Purple whispers, laying their hand on the side of Orange’s helmet, “that I couldn’t save you.”

Orange’s empty helmet says nothing.

Their pack has to be somewhere in here. Purple finds it in their pocket and pulls out their ID.

_32701._

Just a number. The cold presses in on Purple’s suit.

“Okay, Orange,” Purple mumbles, stowing their comm badge and ID in a safe pocket, “let’s…get you out of here.”

Orange is heavy and Purple is small. They try to move the body with as much dignity as they can, kneeling down and wrapping their arms around Orange in a hug, valiantly trying to ignore how much _colder_ this hug feels than the last time they hugged Orange, just this morning…

Blood smears on the front of their suit but they pay it no mind, pulling Orange out from the engine. They won’t come. Purple pulls harder, until they’re forced to let go and fall onto their back with an undignified _thump._ Grunting, they get up and pull Orange’s body forward, seeing it caught under the knobs on the bottom.

_They pressed themselves back against the engine. They were afraid._

Unbidden, a lump rises in Purple’s throat. They swallow it and crane forward, straining for Orange’s suit. Closer…closer…not quite.

_Thank god I’m small._ Purple wiggles closer, under the engine, straining to free the suit.

“ _Ah!_ ”

A sharp edge of the engine catches the back of their suit and _scratches,_ ripping the suit open with a low _riiiiiiiipp_ and grazing their back hard enough to leave a mark.

Purple doesn’t care.

Just…a little…further…there!

Purple’s fingers unhook the back of Orange’s suit from the engine and their body slumps forward. Panting, Purple backs out of the engine, wincing when the sharp edge catches their back again. Yeah, it’s definitely left a mark.

“Purple?”

Black’s voice rings through the ship. Right. Black thinks they’re eating something. Purple looks back down at Orange. No. They’re not leaving. Not again.

The Skeld isn’t very big. Black will find them.

Sure enough, as Purple is rolling Orange onto their back and valiantly avoiding looking at any of the wounds, Black’s footsteps come from the path to Reactor.

“Oh, babe,” they hear Black murmur as they try to find a way to pick up the body, “Purple, stop. You don’t have to do that, baby, it’s not your job.”

And that, _that_ sentence is enough to crash a dormant wave of anger strong enough to sharpen Purple’s tongue.

“Yes, it is,” Purple says firmly, refusing to let go of Orange. “This is my crew mate. They were my _friend._ I have a duty to them, even now, to make sure they’re taken care of. That _is_ my job.”

Black takes a step forward. “Purple—“

“No,” Purple says, cutting them off swiftly, “no. You don’t get to do that. This is Orange, ID 32701. Crew member aboard the Skeld. _My_ crew. _My_ friend. _My_ job.” They glare as hard as they can through their helmet, hoping somehow it melts the perfect sheen of Black’s. “So you can either stand there or you can help me.”

The anger keeps them warm enough that the chill fear can’t resettle, even when Black takes another step forward. Then they kneel down and take Orange’s legs.

“On three, ready?”

Purple nods sharply.

“One…two…three.”

Orange is _heavy._ Purple hooks their arms around Orange’s chest and onto their shoulder, trying to keep them off the ground. They’re not going to drag their crew mate to the airlock. And, for course, because Black is _so outrageously tall,_ their carrying height is about where Purple’s sternum starts.

Purple is panting and struggling after a few seconds but the anger keeps them moving. Black, walking backward, doesn’t make a noise. Somehow, that makes the anger worse.

They make it to the airlock, Black hitting the first button with their elbow and leading them inside. “Ready?”

They nod, too out of breath to give a proper response.

Setting Orange down doesn’t hurt as much as it echoes around an empty void.

“Come on,” Black says softly. Purple backs out, their eyes still on Orange as Black stands. Black walks out to stand next to them, closing the first door.

“…do you want to do it?”

Purple’s hand hovers over the button. Their fingers shake.

_This is my job._

The hand closes into a fist and slams into the button.

Orange’s body is sucked out into the void as the airlock decompresses.

Black’s presence burns next to them as they watch Orange disappear.

“Do you want to say anything?”

Orange’s comm badge and ID burn in Purple’s pocket and they turn away, walking swiftly down the corridor toward the crew quarters. Black falls easily into step beside them. They walk inside, valiantly ignoring Black as they walk to their bunk.

They take down the shoebox and open it.

Pink’s ID and comm badge. Brown’s ID and comm badge. Blue’s ID and comm badge. Red’s ID and comm badge.

They didn’t have a chance to get the others.

Purple carefully lays the shoebox down on the bed, taking out Orange’s and clutching them tightly in front of their helmet. Closing their eyes, they let their head tip forward, mumbling a silent apology that they weren’t good enough to save them.

As they lay Orange’s ID and comm badge next to Pink’s—they were best friends, after all—they feel Black come up beside them.

“…you kept them?”

“Their families deserve to get something.” Purple’s throat starts to close. “I didn’t have time to get Cyan’s, or White’s. O-or Green’s.”

Black doesn’t say anything.

Purple stares down at the shoebox. It’s so… _stupid._ It’s this dinky little thing that just _happened_ to be the perfect size to fit the carry-on limits, still stuck with stickers and peeling things from when they were young. And yet it holds what remains of some of the best people Purple’s ever known.

The anger disappears in a sudden rush, threatening to send Purple staggering.

They’re _dead._

They’re gone.

This…this crummy little shoebox is all they have left of their crew.

“You really should eat something,” Black’s voice drifts in from miles away.

“Not hungry.”

“I think that might be a little beside the point right now.” Out of the corner of their eye, Black moves, turning toward them. “You should—“

Purple just manages not to tense when Black cuts themselves off. Then they see Black reach for something on their back.

“…you’re hurt.”

Right. That bit of the engine. Now that they’re paying attention, they can feel the cool draft of air from the back of their suit. Black’s fingers rest gently against the torn fabric.

“They really don’t make these things as durable as they should,” they murmur, “come on…let’s get you back to med bay.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s not do this again, shall we?”

“I can take care of it.”

“It’s right at the center of your back, Purple. There is no way you’re going to be able to deal with this properly. I’m sure you know the risks of leaving something like this untreated.”

They do. They know that Black is right, they need help to tend to this.

They also know that will involve having their suit off, back bared to Black. And there’s no way to only have _half_ the suit off, nor keep their helmet on while it happens.

Purple lets their head hang. Then they roll their shoulders back.

“Let’s go.”

Another side effect of the anger wearing off is that the throbbing pain in their knee and hip returns with a vengeance.

This…this really has been all in the last _hour,_ hasn’t it?

Black doesn’t say anything, simply slows down to keep pace with them as they hobble to med bay. The doors hiss open and Black catches sight of the bruise supplies still out. Purple flushes, reaching out to put them away only for Black to catch their hand.

“You focus on getting your suit off,” Black says softly, “I’ll put these away and I won’t look.”

The scratch on their back stretches uncomfortably tight as they start to get their suit off, trying to make it as quiet as possible. They can hear Black rummaging around and while the thought of being completely outside of their suit is terrifying, the fear simply prickles goosebumps along their arms.

They sit on the bed and curl their arms around their suit, hugging it protectively to their chest. Their helmet sits uselessly on the floor as they hook their chin over the rim of their suit and stare at the floor. Distantly, a part of them shamefully burns at how much of a _child_ they’re being right now, but that childish part of them screams at the thought of doing this without something to hold.

After a few moments, Purple hears the soft trundle of a tray and Black’s footsteps approaching the bed. The tray stops next to the bed as Black steps fully behind them. Purple bows their head, letting Black look their fill.

“…I suppose asking you to take the under-suit off is an absolute no?”

_…right._

“Do you have others?” Purple nods. “Alright. Well, I can’t treat this properly with it on, so we have two choices. Well—three, I guess. We can either try and get you out of it, I can cut it off, or I can cut out the area where I’m gonna need to work. But that’s gonna make it difficult to get the rest of it off later.”

“…does it look patchable?” Purple swallows. “The…scratch?”

Black’s fingers press gently at different places along the cut. “…not really.”

Purple steels themselves. “Cut it off.”

“The whole thing?”

“Do it.”

“Okay.”

Movement out of the corner of their eye and they look, only to see Black picking up a scalpel.

Black must notice the tense of their shoulders because they pause. “…you sure?”

“Yes. Do it.”

A slight tug at the back of their collar and the soft _riiiiiiiiiip_ of the fabric. Black doesn’t even come close to grazing them with the point of the scalpel, nor does the pressure at any point become uncomfortable. The bottom of the under-suit top comes loose with a light _snap_ at the base of their spine.

“There,” Black says quietly, “all done.”

The scalpel makes a _clink_ as they set it back down on the tray. Their hands start to peel back the lining of the under-suit.

“I’m going to pull this a little ways down your arms, alright?”

Purple moves enough to let them, limbs almost robotic, staring into the middle distance as Black rolls the material back. As their fingers ghost over Purple’s shoulders, another chill runs down their back and they pull their legs up, curling into a ball around their suit on the bed.

“Alright. Just hold still, now, this shouldn’t take long.”

As Purple turns their head to watch Black walk back around, their gaze lands on the scalpel again.

They tense.

“Easy, I know it stings,” Black says—oh, there’s a wipe on their back, Black is cleaning their cut— “it’ll be over in a second, you’re lucky this won’t need stitches. I think your suit took the brunt of it.”

Purple can barely hear them. There’s a rough bit on their suit that digs into their wrists as their fingers tighten their grip. The cool air in med bay makes the top of their thighs ache.

It’s right there.

Black is right behind them.

It’s so _sharp._

It takes a few moments for Purple to realize Black has stopped moving, one of their hands resting, burning soft, on their lower back.

“Purple,” Black calls softly, “Purple, I need you to breathe for me.”

Purple manages a few shallow breaths.

“That’s it…” Black makes a soft noise when Purple’s face twitches. “Hey, hey, none of that, I told you, baby, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Purple’s hands start to shake.

“I know it’s cold, it’ll be alright, it’s not for much longer,” they soothe as they start to apply the cream and bandages, “I don’t know why they keep this place so cold, you’re shivering.”

Another flash of metal and their head jerks around to see the knife—Black’s knife hooked back onto their belt. A sharp inhale gets caught in their throat.

“…is it the knife?” When Purple doesn’t move, Black unhooks it deftly and lays it on the table next to the scalpel. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Purple, it’s over there now…”

Now…now there are two.

They’re both so sharp…

Black’s hands smooth over the bandage, giving the top of their back a soft pat.

“I really don’t know why they keep this place so cold,” they mutter to themselves as they start putting everything back on the tray, “look at you, you’re…”

They trail off.

Their hand reaches out to gently ghost over the scars peeking out from Purple’s under-suit, right where their thigh meets their hip.

“Oh, _baby…_ ”

Purple buries their face in their suit, shame burning every inch of them. Stupid, _stupid._ Useless Purple. Weak Purple.

Not good enough.

The clattering in the med bay sounds lightyears away. They wrap their arms tighter around their legs, curling up. It’s cold. It’s so cold. It’s so, so, cold and so _lonely._

They’re alone.

Their crew is dead. It doesn’t stop hitting them that they messed up so badly that their whole crew is _dead._

Something makes the back of the bed sink. Something warm presses against their legs and something else wraps under their knees, pulling them up against a broad chest. The shame blossoms as Purple realizes what’s happening.

Black curls around Purple, holding them protectively on the bed. Their helmet is surprisingly reassuring as it lays on Purple’s shoulder, warm and smooth and…soft?

“You don’t have to pretend, baby,” Black whispers, their voice slightly strangled but no less sincere, “it’s—it’s gonna be okay, baby, I promise. Shh, shh…it’s okay.”

The shame snaps into a new wave of tears, pushed out against the unyielding purple suit.

What are they _doing?_

An…an hour ago, Green and Orange were still alive. An hour ago, all Purple had to worry about was making sure they calibrated the shields properly. An hour ago, they didn’t know there was still an Impostor on board.

And now…

Now their whole crew was dead. Now Purple was responsible for making sure their comm badges got back to their families. Now Purple had blood on their hands too.

And what were they doing?

Sobbing pathetically in the arms of the very Impostor they were still _petrified_ of.

For the _second_ time in an hour.

“Shh, shh, baby,” Black murmurs, their hands stroking up and down Purple’s arms, “it’s—it’s okay, I’ve gotcha, I’ve…I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Black is warm…and soft…and so, so, scary.

“No more sharp objects, baby, no more…” Is it Purple’s imagination or…does Black sound…upset? “I promised I’d protect you, baby…nothing’s gonna hurt you, nothing, you understand?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“B-Black?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here, what do you need?”

“I’m—I’m _scared._ ”

A soft soothing noise comes out of Black’s throat and they clutch Purple tighter. “I know, baby, I know…”

“I’m so _scared,_ I’m so _scared_ Black, I—I can’t—I... _I—_ “

“I’m not gonna hurt you, baby, you’re gonna be fine, I’m gonna protect you, nothing’s gonna hurt you. I gotcha. I gotcha.”

One of Black’s hands carefully worms its way under Purple’s arms to rub gentle circles on their stomach.

“You gotta breathe for me baby, come on…shh, shh…there you go.”

“…Black?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Why…why are you being so…sweet?”

Black chuckles. “I could ask you the same question.”

Purple’s brow furrows. “I haven’t…I haven’t been ‘sweet,’ I’ve…I’ve just been scared.”

The hand on their stomach keeps rubbing gently. “You haven’t been dragging your feet kicking and screaming. You haven’t called me a freak or a monster or cussed me out. You were insistent on taking care of things properly and you’ve listened to me.”

They lean forward a little more to lightly bump their helmet against Purple’s head.

“And, as I said before, the first thing you did when I told you the truth was apologize and ask how you could help.”

Purple swallows. “…that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Not to sound _too_ condescending, but…have you seen yourself when you’re scared, Purple?”

“…no?”

“You have no idea how endearing it is,” Black murmurs, their smile evident in their voice, “and how…well, you’re adorable, Purple.”

Purple’s face burns for an entirely different reason.

“…is that the only reason?”

“No, baby, that’s not the only reason. You…” Black sighs, adjusting their grip a little. “…you’re worth being sweet to.”

“I...am?”

“Yeah, Purple,” Black says softly, sounding much closer than they did a moment ago, “you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple: You will tell me things
> 
> Black: *tells them things* 
> 
> Purple: *surprised pikachu face*


	3. Black: The Skeld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black's mission is simple. Take the transport to MIRAHQ. Lay low. Gather intel. Board the Skeld. Kill the crew. Return the ship to POLUS. 
> 
> Even simple plans go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buccle up folx

“You’re next,” comes the somber voice in their room. They take one last look at the surface of their planet before turning away. No time to be second-guessing now.

The suits are so _bulky._ Not nearly as bulky as they perhaps _should_ be, humans are _so_ fragile…but bulky none the less. Shifting into the proper shape feels…wrong. How do humans manage with so few limbs? And so restricted too? They’d had practice maneuvering with them, all part of the missions, but _still._

“You look good.”

“…thanks.”

“This shouldn’t be a long one. You’re in a team of three. The others are already up there.”

“Remind me of the name?”

“The Skeld, mission to MIRAHQ to pick up a new crew and then on to the refuel station.”

“Deadline is to intercept the new crew once they’re on board and redirect back here, yes?”

“The crew should be eliminated by the time you return.”

They square their shoulders. “Understood.”

“Good luck.”

They look up at the transport ship. No going back.

A panel blinks on the dropship as they board, requesting an ID and voice registration.

Their too-small mouth opens underneath the helmet.

“Black. ID 783920.”

* * *

“Welcome aboard,” Blue says, a tablet in their hands as Black steps onto the ship, “is this your first mission?”

“No.”

“Do you have your records?” Black hands over the data they spent time accruing on MIRAHQ. “Great. Well, go ahead and familiarize yourself with the ship, we’ll be up in a few hours.”

Blue walks away. Black glances around the dropship. There are several crew members already on board. They can’t tell how many have arrived just yet.

“Oh, hey! You must be Black!”

Black turns. A human in a purple suit walks up to them, barely higher than their chest. They tilt their head as they look down.

“Yes?”

“I’m Purple,” Purple says, holding out their hand, “it’s nice to meet you!”

Black considers it, then slowly reaches out to take their hand. It’s small. Fragile. They don’t quite remember humans being so…frail. This one must be a juvenile.

“What’s your assignment?”

“That’s confidential,” Black deflects, “as you should know.”

Purple deflates slightly. “I understand. Well, have you been on the Skeld before?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to show you ‘round? She’s a small ship, but it can be a little confusing at first.”

…ideally, they should perform this sweep with the other Impostors. But if they’re seen as a group together this early, it could raise suspicion.

“Yes.”

“Great!” Purple’s voice chirps off the walls as they turn to go. “This way, I’ll show you the quarters first in case you wanna put stuff down.”

As they began following Purple down the hall, they glanced around at the cameras. Few. Only in the major junctions. None in the rooms they passed.

Purple starts babbling about the med bay and the other crewmates. Black absorbs the information to learn routines, when they might be where, when there would be gaps in patterns.

“Have you met anyone else yet?”

“Blue.”

“Oh, they’re great, aren’t they?”

Black remains silent. Purple doesn’t seem to care. “They’ve done this run a bunch of times. They’ve got a lot of experience, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, that’s good!”

_Not necessarily for you._

The security room poses a problem, but the vent in the corner allows for a measure of…assuredness. The reactor is the same as the other ships. The engines are too separated to be an efficient target.

“And then this is Electrical,” Purple says, gesturing with one hand, “not a lot of people like that place.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s…it’s kinda dark and creepy in there. Plus, it’s hard to see even when the lights _are_ on.”

“I see.”

Purple is moving off down the corridor as Black looks inside. This could be a…useful target.

The storage room and the comms station are empty as well, but two other crew members sit in Navigation. Purple cheerfully introduces them as Orange and Green.Black accepts their ‘hellos’ with a nod.

Blue stands by the weapons system as they walk in, answering Purple’s squeaky hello with barely a glance. As Purple bounds over to the download panel, Blue glances over at Black.

“They giving you the tour?”

“Yes.”

“You sick of it yet?”

The tone of Blue’s question gives Black pause. A pause which Blue seems to interpret as an affirmative.

“Yeah, I know. They’re…they can be a little much sometimes. They’re a good kid.”

_Kid._ So Purple is a juvenile. Interesting.

“Hey Purple,” Blue calls, “why don’t you go grab Green and start checking out the reactor for takeoff?”

“Sure!” Purple leaves with another jaunty wave. “Bye, Black!”

Black doesn’t wave back, even as their hand twitches.

Blue sighs. “Alright, you go get all your stuff stowed. The last two crew members should be on soon enough.”

Black walks back towards the quarters. They glance around a few more rooms before settling down and opening their pack. Everything looks to be in order.

Blue, Green, Orange, Purple.

“Hey, you Black?”

Black turns as they step out of their room to see another crew member. A quick look behind shows two more.

“I’m Pink.” Pink jerks their head behind them. “Red and Brown are in there. You meet everyone yet?”

“Is everyone on board?”

“I think there’s still two waiting to transport.”

Red stands up and makes their way over. “Red. Pleasure.”

Red’s hand is strong. Their helmet is almost at level with Black’s. This one may be an issue.

“And I’m Brown.” Brown tips them a lazy two-fingered salute. “Ready to get the fuck out of here.”

“We’re casting off in half an hour,” Pink mutters, “you can wait that long.”

“Well, the sooner we get going, the sooner we get paid, right?” Brown slaps their knees. “And that’s why we’re all here, ain’t it?”

Red and Pink make vague noises of agreement. Black simply remains silent, glancing up and down the corridor.

“Attention everyone,” Blue’s voice sounds over the comms, “please report to the cafeteria.”

“Guess those last two finally got their asses on board,” Brown says, standing, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

They walk into the cafeteria. Black’s gaze immediately lands on the two members they haven’t met yet.

A white suit on Blue’s left and a light blue suit on their right.

“Everyone,” Blue says, “meet your crew of the Skeld. This’ll be a short trip to the refuel outpost near Orbiter 7. For the next few clicks, this is your home. You all have your tasks, you know why you’re here. Let’s get to it, time is money!”

The rest of the crew quickly head off to different corners of the ship. White stands still for a moment, watching them leave, before they catch Black’s gaze and nod. The two of them start towards opposite ends of the ship, Black walking back through the upper engine, White towards weapons.

They reconvene in the comms room.

“White.”

“Black.”

“Where’s Cyan?”

“They’re evaluating the vents.”

“So soon? We haven’t left the dock yet.”

“Cyan is an expert at using the vents, I can assure you.”

Black takes out a drive from their pocket and inserts it into the main panel. After a few seconds, the screen flickers and the program installs successfully.

“Crewmate evaluation?”

“Green appears to be in charge of the reactor,” White says, “Orange, weapons.”

“If we kill them too quickly, they may cut the mission off. We have to be careful.”

“I understand the risks, Black,” White says, beginning to wire the systems to their pads, “but you should understand the _mission._ These humans aren’t important. MIRAHQ will simply send more.”

Black rolls their eyes. “I understand the mission perfectly well.”

“Can I kill Blue?”

“ _Quiet,_ you fool,” White hisses, yanking Cyan inside the room, “you’ll get us discovered!”

“Oh please,” Cyan hums, leaning against the wall, “no one’s even _near_ us.”

“But you cannot always be _assured_ of that!” White slaps Cyan upside the head. Cyan barely reacts. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“You can’t kill Blue yet.” Black fiddles with the pad on their wrist. “If the Captain dies this early on, they may cancel the mission or make another one. We have to be patient.”

Cyan grumbles. “Then who _can_ I kill?”

“Right now? No one.”

“Blue is the captain,” White says, “Pink is the engineer, I am unsure as to what Red’s station is.”

“What about Brown?”

“What about me?”

Black doesn’t jump as they turn around. “We were checking to make sure everyone had met everyone,” they say smoothly, “considering Cyan and White arrived later.”

“Yeah. Haven’t met y’all yet.” Brown waves. “Name’s Brown. Comms officer. Get outta my workspace, y’all ain’t paid to be in here.”

White stiffens. “There’s no need to be _rude._ ”

“Ain’t rude if it’s true.”

“Have a good day,” Black grits out as they tug White and Cyan out the door toward the storage room.

“…can I kill _Brown?_ ”

“Not yet,” Black says quietly.

“Oh. Hey, guys!”

“…Purple,” White says lowly as Purple waves. “Greetings.”

“Did Brown kick you guys out of comms?”

“He did,” Cyan says, tilting their head at Purple in a way that Black can tell means they’re looking for weak spots, “it was really _mean._ ”

“Brown’s just protective over his job.” Purple shrugs. “He’s a little abrasive but he’s pretty harmless.”

“Oh, well, good for him.” Cyan starts walking around Purple and Black wants to smack their forehead. “What about you…are you harmless?”

_Damnit, Cyan._

“In the words of Pink,” Purple says dryly, “I’m about as intimidating as a butterfly stuck on a marshmallow.”

Black stifles a snort. Cyan chuckles.

“ _…good.”_

“Cyan,” White warns, “shouldn’t we be going somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I keeping you up?” Purple twists their hands together nervously. “I’m sorry. You guys can go!”

“No,” Black says, surprising White, “we’re in no rush.”

“Oh, okay. Are you—are you heading for security?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Red should be in there for your check-ins. I just came from there.”

_Security officer. Hmm._

“And what precisely is _your_ job,” White asks, “and where are you going?”

“Thank you, Purple,” Black says quickly, nudging White’s shoulder and pushing Cyan down the corridor.

“We could’ve gotten that information easily,” White hisses, “why did you stop me?”

“What part of ‘be patient’ have you not gotten yet?” Black nods to Orange as they pass Electrical. “If we start doing things _now,_ they’ll just turn around and bring us right back to MIRA.”

“We need to be efficient—“

“Which means we need to be _smart._ ” Black steps through the reactor doors. “Wait. Observe. Pick your moment.”

“Can I still kill Brown?”

Black sighs.

* * *

White and Cyan sat by themselves at mealtimes. They wanted Black to sit with them too, but that would make them too obvious. So here Black was, in the corner, staring at the rest of the crew with their helmets off.

Humans looked so _similar._

“…hey, Black?”

Black looks over at Purple, standing a little ways away from the table.

“May I join you?”

Black doesn’t say anything. They nod.

“Oh, thanks.” They sit down across from Black, unblocking their helmet and setting it down next to them. “Are you not hungry?”

“No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

Black’s gaze turns fully upon them. “What?”

Purple stares at them with their human face. “Have you eaten _something_ today?”

“…what’s it to you?”

“I worry,” Purple says, fiddling with their hands, “call it the Mom Friend instinct.”

“The ‘Mom Friend Instinct?’”

“Yeah, you know…every group of people has a Mom Friend. The one who looks out for everyone, offers support, kinda like the therapist of the friend group?”

Black does not know what Purple is referring to, but they nod anyway. “And that’s you?”

“Well, not really. Blue’s the captain.”

“Mm.”

“I just—I dunno, it helps me not panic,” Purple says, “making sure everyone else is okay.”

“I see.”

“So…have you eaten today?”

“I ate before I got on the ship,” Black says, and that’s not a lie.

“Good.” Purple starts eating their own food. Their mouth is so…tiny. Human eating tools are inefficient. At least Purple is small. “Are you fine with talking or do you want me to be quiet?”

“I don’t care.”

Black turns to face the rest of the room again but their gaze keeps wandering back to Purple. Purple seems perfectly content to sit and eat in silence, even as the other crew members start laughing together at their tables.

“Why aren’t you eating with Blue?”

Purple looks up. “Huh?”

“Why aren’t you eating with the others?”

Purple shrugs. “They—it’s weird.”

“Weird?”

“Blue’s the captain,” Purple says softly, “they’re my superior. I can’t—it’s against protocol.”

Black turns to look at them. If they didn’t know any better, they’d say Purple sounded sad.

“Superior officers aren’t really supposed to socialize with their crew,” Purple explains, “and even though our crew is just ten people, it—I—um…”

Black frowns as Purple’s hand falters on their fork. They swallow.

“…I like being friends with people,” Purple says finally, “and that doesn’t really work out…here.”

Ah. Yes. Human pack instincts.

“I see.”

“Sorry,” Purple says quickly, picking up on the tone of Black’s voice, “didn’t mean to emotionally vomit all over you. As I said, I’m not really good with…just being work colleagues like this. It’s totally fine if you want me to go somewhere else or stop talking.”

“No,” Black says before they can register the words coming out of their mouth as Purple goes to stand, “you can stay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Purple sits back down. And stays for the rest of the meal.

Black pointedly ignores the looks from Cyan and White.

* * *

“Purple should be the first kill,” White says quietly as they sit down in their quarters, “they are the youngest, and they do not have a critical role.”

“Ooh, can I do it?”

Black stares at Cyan, practically _drooling._ “Are you _on_ something?”

“I just wanna get _started!_ This is boring!”

“They’re fine,” White sighs, “they’re just excited.”

“Their excitement is gonna get us killed.”

“Oh, please. Like a crew of _humans_ could do anything to us.” White waves a hand. “There’s _three_ of us. We’ve taken ships this size with just one.”

_Have you done that, though?_ Black shakes their head. “If we let Brown and Red look at the systems too closely, they’ll see the sabotage equipment. Purple is not crucial, yes, but that means their absence won’t impede the crew at all.”

“We do have to start crippling them,” White muses, tapping their fingers on the table, “but we must do it _slowly._ Are we still too close to MIRA?”

“We’re almost out of range. Give it two more days. Then we start. Remember, we need _Green_ alive.”

“Then I get to kill Brown?”

“This one has to be covert,” White says harshly, staring at Cyan, “you can’t take your time. There are still seven of them. The first few have to be quick.”

“Ugh, that’s no _fun.”_

As White starts scolding Cyan, Black turns to stare at the door.

Something about this mission feels…off. Maybe it’s Cyan’s bloodlust that is just a _little_ too enthusiastic. Maybe it’s White’s annoying sense of superiority. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s both at the same time, even as White seems to be the only one able to keep Cyan in check.

Black isn’t used to working in teams of three. They’ve pulled off many missions solo, done about half as many with a partner. Three is risky. It’s another pair of hands and jaws, sure, but it’s another alibi to keep track of, another story to spin. And _these_ two…

White hadn’t even poked at the big hole in Black’s plan to kill Brown or Red first. If Purple dies, they can pass it off as a freak accident, especially if they sabotage the reactor or the oxygen too. Sad, but not catastrophic, and the crew will grieve and move on. Purple is disposable. Red and Brown, on the other hand, occupy vital positions that _will_ be noticed. And if they aren’t compromised in any way—say, grieving the unexpected death of a crewmate—then they will be more difficult to kill.

But White hasn’t noticed.

And Black doesn’t say anything.

Maybe they’ve been home too long, the need to get back to Polus as quickly as possible urging them to get the mission done as fast as possible, despite their insistence that they _wait_ for the right time.

Maybe they’ve missed this, need the thrill in the blood of _just_ getting away with it as opposed to the safety of sitting back and watching the crews descend into chaos.

Or maybe, Black thinks as White launches into another tirade as Cyan sulks, it has something to do with the way Purple’s voice colored as they asked if they’d eaten today.

* * *

“Hey, Black,” Blue calls as Black walks into Navigation, set about faking a download, “you finding everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Ship’s tiny, so don’t be afraid to holler if you need help.” Blue glances over their shoulder. “Though I’m sure you’ll find it on your own.”

Red huffs a laugh as they lounge in the co-pilot chair. Their leg swings from the chair as they turn to stare out the window. “None of this is rocket science. That’s Pink’s job. Black’s smart, they’ll figure it out.”

“I appreciate your faith.” Black stands by the download panel, surreptitiously checking the status of the oxygen sabotage. Any second now…

The two-minute mark flashes from White. They’re in position. Black’s finger hovers over the button, ready to press, when—

“Oh, thank god, they’re not here.”

Black turns to see Orange poke their head in from Weapons, tromping in and collapsing into the chair on the other side of Blue. They quickly close the sabotage device and turn back to the download panel.

“Who’re you avoiding now?” Red swivels in the chair. “Green chasing you down for losing a bet again?”

“That was _one time,_ you ass.”

“Language,” Blue says cooly, “now answer the question.”

Orange sighs. “I’m just—look, it’s not that I don’t _like_ the kid, but…we’re not babysitters.”

“Oh,” Red hums, idly scuffing their boot against the navigation panel, “kid bugging you about doing tasks again?”

“Yeah.”

“Think they’ve got, like, separation anxiety or something.”

“Oh, another one?”

“Don’t be mean,” Blue says sharply as they adjust the ship’s course.

“Come _on,_ Blue,” Red says, their head leaning to the side as they lounge all over the panel, “don’t pretend you’re not sick of Purple constantly following you like a lost puppy. You send ‘em off on as many errands as you can.”

Black turns the slightest bit toward the conversation.

“They’re here to work,” Blue says, “I give them work.”

“Yeah, and to get them off your fucking tail.”

“What did I _just_ say about language?”

  
“You don’t gotta pretend, Cap,” Orange pipes up, “it’s just us. We’re not gonna tell.”

“Gossiping about my crew is unprofessional.”

“We’re not gossiping. We’re highlighting performance issues that could become liabilities.” Orange shifts in the chair. “And besides, aren’t you the one that said they’d be the first one you’d let go?”

Blue sighs. They lean back in their chair. “I suppose you’re right. They can be a bit of a nuisance.”

“Here, here.”

Black’s grip on the data tightens.

“At least we aren’t stuck on this ship with ‘em,” Red sighs, “that’d be a nightmare. Jeez, Black, how big of a download you doing over there?”

Black turns the panel off with a click as Orange sighs. “You know those take forever.”

“Heh. You’d think our speed would be better if they ‘upgraded’ this hunk of junk.”

“This ‘hunk of junk’ is still my ship, thank you very much.”

Black walks out of Navigation and turns the corner to head to admin. The conversation echoes in their head. They glance down at their wrist to see White calling off the kill. They must’ve been seen by someone else.

As they start the fake upload, Black plays the conversation over again. They were right, it seems, about Purple being non-essential personnel, to the point where the other humans were noticing. That, if anything, should cement them as the first kill, shouldn’t it?

But if they were non-essential to the point where such a loss wouldn’t be grieved, their death would be a moot point. It would do nothing but lower the number of crew members and put the rest on high alert. No. Stick with the plan.

That doesn’t reassure them as much as it should.

Black walks out of admin towards comms, surreptitiously glancing in to see if White had found Brown. As soon as they poke their head in, their question is answered.

“I told you, kid, I don’t want you here, now scram!” Brown turns around, only to stop short. “Oh. Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

“...Purple?”

“Sheesh, they’re really bugging everyone today, huh?” Brown shakes their head as they turn back around. “Already had Pink and Green in here trying to convince me to let them stay. Told ‘em no. Kid’s gotta figure out their own shit.”

“Mm.” Black glances around. No one there. They could make the kill quickly and leave before anyone showed.

“At least they kept their helmet on this time.”

“What?”

Brown raps their helmet with their knuckles. “This thing. Didn’t bother with the waterworks this time around.”

Something strange happens to Black’s gut at Brown’s words. They take a step inside.

“‘Waterworks?’”

“Oh, has no one warned you yet?” Brown doesn’t even bother to look over their shoulder as Black gets closer. “Kid’s one hell of a crybaby. They gotta take their helmet off to wipe their face or something. Really just an excuse to pull out the old crocodile tears. Blue’s yelled at ‘em for that, ’s against protocol.”

“…I see.”

“A little rejection’s good for them, you know?” Brown twists a dial in front of them. “Give ‘em thicker skin.”

Black’s comm buzzes. White’s in the clear.

“I have tasks in admin,” Black says smoothly, straightening up again.

“Good luck, buddy.”

As Black leaves, they catch sight of White coming from the other end of the corridor. Black nods. As they turn into Storage and lose sight of them, they flick open the pad and sabotage the oxygen system.

Alarms blare. Black walks calmly into admin and stands at the panel, waiting. They can hear the muttered curses and frantic footsteps as the rest of the crew start to scramble. Green and Pink rush into admin and Black quickly types in the code.

“Fuck,” Green pants as their system stabilizes, “are the others at the other one?”

“I’ll go check.” And Pink is off, running out, only for the alarms to die off in an instant.

“Thank _god.”_ Green leans over, bracing their hands on their knees.

_Do humans still pray?_

“We should get back to work,” Green says after a minute, “I’ll see if something went wrong with the reactor.”

Black nods as Green turns to head out of the room, walking back over to continue faking the upload. They glance out into the corridor to watch for anyone else.

Oxygen is far away from comms. That should buy them enough time to get an alibi. Pink and Green will vouch for them, they can only hope that White has enough time to get away.

They walk out of admin into the cafeteria, heading to one of the wire panels at the other end. They watch as Orange comes panting out of Weapons.

“Oh, Black, thank god, you’re okay.” They slump onto one of the tables. “Pink said you got the admin module fixed, thanks.”

“Is everyone else…?”

Orange nods. “Red and Blue came with me straight from Nav and White ran up from Shields.”

_Clever._

“Pink went to go check the wiring down by the storage chute, apparently there’s some stuff that could go wrong there.”

  
Black turns back to the wires as Orange continues to pant.

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One._

Pink’s scream comes right on time.

* * *

“Brown is dead,” Blue says somberly as they walk back into the cafeteria with Red. A shaking Pink follows behind.

Black glances around the table. White looks immaculate next to Cyan, who is surprisingly still. Next to them, Orange curses and slams their fist into the table.

“Was it a suit malfunction? I told them, we need to make sure these things are pressurized properly, they don’t meet the new resistance standard, and if Brown’s dead because—“

“It wasn’t a suit malfunction,” Red’s voice says lowly.

Green’s head raises from their hands. “What do you _mean_ it wasn’t a suit malfunction? Did Brown have their helmet off?”

Blue exchanges a look with Red and they take a seat at the table.

“Brown was murdered.”

_“What?_ ” Orange is on their feet in a second. “Brown was _murdered?”_

“I saw it,” Pink says shakily, “they were—it’s _awful.”_

Black turns their head to watch Green’s helmet wobble and Orange starts to pace around the cafeteria. Their gaze lands on Purple, who just stares at Pink.

Interesting.

“Orange, come sit down,” Blue says quietly.

“You want me to _sit down?”_ Orange slams their fists down onto the table, making Pink jump. “Brown just got _murdered_ and you want me to—“

“There is more information that I need to tell you,” Blue says sharply, “and you will _sit down_ for it.”

Ah, there it is. Captain Blue. Orange sits down a little sheepish.

Blue steeples their fingers together. “Now. We’ve all been briefed on worse case scenarios in space, yes?”

The crew nods tensely.

“Then,” Blue says slowly, “as your Captain, I am officially counting this ship as Compromised under the Infiltration Condition,”

“ _Fuck._ ”

Red lets Pink lean onto their shoulder as Pink starts to sob. Green grabs Orange’s shoulder. Purple doesn’t move.

Blue raises their chin.

“There’s an Impostor among us.”

“Where was everyone,” Red says, gently sitting Pink back up, “and when do we think this happened?”

“Fuck, okay, um—“ Pink rubs their helmet. “I—I was in the engine room with Green. When oxygen went off we ran to admin and found Black.”

“I was in admin,” Black confirms with a nod, “uploading.”

“That’s true,” Orange says, “they came from nav. Red and Blue and I were there and saw them. We ran to oxygen when it went off.”

“Cyan? White? Where were you?”

“I was with Cyan in Electrical,” White says smoothly, “and I ran to oxygen.”

“And Purple and I were in Security at the end there,” Cyan pipes up, sounding far too cheery. Thankfully, no one else seems to notice.

“Wait,” Orange says, staring at White, “you came to oxygen _from_ Electrical? I thought you came up from Shields.”

“I ran that way, yes.”

“Past comms?”

Black curses internally as White stiffens. “Are you accusing me of something, Orange?”

“I’m saying Brown is fucking _dead,_ ” Orange snarls, “and _you_ ran right by where they were.”

“Wait, it couldn’t have been White,” Cyan says quickly, “they were with me, remember?”

“I thought you just said they weren’t? You and Purple were in Security?”

“All three of us were in Electrical,” White says, leveling a look at Orange. “When oxygen went off, they went one way, I went the other.”

“Why would you go through _security,_ ” Red asks with a scoff, “that’s so far!”

“Don’t yell at them.” Purple raises their head. “That was my idea.”

Green sighs heavily. “Well, next time, kid, take the shorter route.”

“I will.”

Blue sighs. “Throwing accusations around isn’t going to get us anywhere. Just…you know the protocol. Team up, no one on their own. Everyone can take the night off.”

Pink starts immediately, quickly followed by Green. Orange storms off with a curse. Red sighs.

“I got them.”

Blue nods. Black glances at White and starts towards their quarters.

“I told you,” White says as soon as the doors are locked, “it would be fine.”

“Except they were immediately suspicious of you,” Black interjects, leaning back in the chair, “you’re lucky Purple covered for you.”

“Purple didn’t cover for me, Purple covered for Cyan.”

“You both were under suspicion. We can’t afford that.”

“Well,” White sighs, “at least now we have the buddy system. We will be each other’s alibi. And they still only believe there’s one Impostor.”

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

There’s a soft knock on their door. Black quickly puts their finger to their lips. They stand up and open the door.

“...Purple?”

“Hi,” Purple says softly, “I just, um, wanted to check in and make sure everyone was, um, okay.”

“Brown just died,” Cyan says in a voice that Black _really_ needs to have a talk with them about, “should we be okay?”

Purple’s shoulders slump. “I guess not. I’m just…making the rounds.”

“Green was right,” White says sharply, “this isn’t something you can just _fix,_ Purple. You heard the Captain. Go to your quarters.”

“I will.”

Black tilts their head. They start to close the door, glancing over their shoulder to check that White and Cyan aren’t paying attention.

“We’re okay, Purple,” they mutter, “but they’re right. You should go back to your quarters.”

Purple nods. “…thank you, Black.”

Black doesn’t close the door until Purple leaves.

“We should kill Purple next,” Cyan chirps, “they’ll be easy to—“

“No.”

White scoffs. “Come on. You said it earlier, they’re disposable. The crew won’t care and it won’t push them into panic yet.”

“Do you not remember Purple covering for both of you?” Black shakes their head. “If you kill Purple, you’re getting rid of an alibi.”

“So Orange?”

“No. Orange was accusing both of you. If you kill them next, it’ll make you look even more suspicious. Stick to the plan.”

Cyan rolls their eyes. “Can I at least do it next time?”

“…sure.”

Cyan doesn’t get to sleep that night, and Black walks into the cafeteria the next morning a little less alert than they’d like. They blink a few times and look around. Seems everyone has already paired up.

“B-black?”

Black turns to see Purple fixing the wiring. They wave them over.

“Do you, um, do you have a partner yet?”

Right. Black shakes their head.

“Do you want—I mean, would you like to be mine?”

“Are you not paired up yet?”

“No. I, um, I asked everyone and they said they’d already paired up.”

_Not babysitters._

_Separation anxiety._

_Crybaby._

_Nuisance._

“I’ll be your partner, Purple,” Black says, “what tasks do you have?”

* * *

“There’s another body. Report to the cafeteria at once.”

Purple’s fingers fumble on the wiring panel to Electrical. Black glances over their shoulder to see the shutter of the vent closing quickly and block it from Purple’s view.

“Let’s go.”

“Someone else? Already?” Purple twists their hands together as they hurry to the cafeteria. “But it’s—oh, gosh—“

“There you two are,” Blue says as they emerge from the hallway, “sit down. Quickly.”

Black sits down, noticing White twiddling their thumbs and Cyan sitting easily next to them. Next to Green, Pink’s seat is conspicuously empty.

“Pink is dead,” Green says hollowly, staring at the table. “I left Reactor for a second to fix the wiring in Upper Engine and when I came back they were—they—“

Blue rests a hand gently on Green’s shoulder.

“Where was everyone?”

“Orange and I were in weapons,” Red says, “right down the hallway from Blue.”

“I was in Nav,” Blue nods, “I can confirm that.”

“Cyan and I were in med bay,” White says smoothly, “and we did not see anyone else the entire round.”

“Purple? Black? Where were you two?”

“Electrical,” Purple mumbles quickly, “we just came from Electrical.”

“And you were together the whole time?”

“Don’t push ‘em too hard,” Red mutters to Blue, “you’ll make ‘em cry.”

Black bristles. “Yes. We were.”

“Blue, you were _alone_ in Navigation?” Cyan props their chin up on their fists. “Didn’t you say that everyone should team up?”

“Hey,” Green says sharply, “you’d better watch what you say about our _Captain._ ”

“I was in Navigation alone, yes,” Blue says calmly, “because Red and Orange needed to walk down to Weapons for a second to do their tasks.”

“Yeah, Cyan.” Red puts their hand protectively on Blue’s shoulder. “We were with Blue for most of the day. We wouldn’t’ve had a chance.”

“Where were _you,_ Cyan,” Orange says sharply, “since you’re throwing around accusations?”

“I told you,” Cyan chirps, “with White!”

“ _Where?_ ”

Cyan falters.

_Shit._

“We were in med bay,” White says sternly, “I had a task and Cyan was helping me.”

“The whole time?”

“Why all the questions, Orange?”

“Because Pink is dead, you absolute—“

“Alright,” Blue calls, “that’s enough.” Orange subsides, muttering angrily to themselves. Blue turns to Cyan.

“Cyan. You were with White, yes?”

“Sure was, Captain.”

“And White was in med bay, yes?”

“Yeah, over by the scanner thingy.”

“Wait a second,” Green says slowly, turning to look at Cyan, “I walked by med bay on my way back because I heard a voice in there.”

Red shifts. “And?”

“And only _White_ was in there.”

Silence. Cyan shifts uncomfortably.

_Don’t crack. Not now._

“Purple,” Cyan blurts, “Purple. You tell them.”

“Wh-what?” Purple looks around frantically. “I—I haven’t seen you! You—I was with Black in Electrical!”

“That’s not true, I—“

Black bites back a curse as Cyan slams their hand over their mouth. Judging by the way White tenses, they’ve figured out what Cyan’s done too.

“Purple,” Green says carefully, “you were in Electrical, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, I was, I promise.”

“Okay. White, you said Cyan was with you in med bay?” White nods stiffly as Green takes a deep breath.

“Okay. I found Pink dead in the reactor. Which is right across from Security.”

“Where are you going with this?” White crosses their arms. “Stop repeating information we already know.”

“There are vents.”

_Shit._

Orange leans forward. “Vents?”

Green nods, looking directly at Cyan. “There are vents that go from med bay to Security to Electrical. If…if Cyan was in the vents, they could be in all three locations at similar times.”

Silence. Green’s voice, having grown stronger as they spoke, still rings in the cafeteria.

Black’s heart races.

“Well,” White scoffs, a moment too late, “that sounds ridiculous.”

“No, no,” Red mutters, looking at Cyan too, “that makes a lot of sense. A _lot_ of sense.”

“Using the vents?” White looks around the table. “Do you all seriously believe this?”

“Yeah, White,” Orange mutters, “we do. Now the question is: do you?”

White catches Black’s gaze. The second they stare at each other feels like an eternity.

_Cyan is gone. Let them go._

White takes one last look at Cyan, who stares desperately at them. They turn away in disgust.

“Take them to the airlock.”

Cyan howls, their maw splitting open as tentacles roil in anguish.

“Oh, god!”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Get them to the airlock!”

“Go, go, go!”

“I got them! I got—someone—“

“I got it, let’s go!”

Red and Blue drag Cyan off down the corridor, as Orange and Green clutch each other and stumble to the reactor, mumbling something about keeping the engines running without Pink. Across the table, White stares at the wall.

“I’m sorry.”

They both look at Purple, who is surprisingly still there.

“They...they seemed like your friend.”

“They...they were an Impostor,” White says, clearing their voice and getting up from the table. “They deserved to die.”

As White leaves, Black takes a deep breath. This is bad. This is really bad. Cyan is already dead. And now the crew is on high alert.

“Black?”

Black looks up at Purple as they stand.

“I, um. I know you and White are—“ Purple twists their hands together. “I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to be White’s partner tomorrow.”

“...thank you.”

Purple nods. “And I am sorry. About Cyan.”

Black blinks in surprise. “Even though they were an Impostor?”

“Yeah,” Purple’s voice says, echoing in Black’s mind hours later, “even then.”

* * *

“We need a double kill,” Black says as soon as the doors close. “If we let them investigate the ship too much they might find evidence of sabotage.”

White says nothing, only sits at the table, and bows their head.

“Blue and Red are the superior officers,” Black continues, “if we take them out, the crew will be left scrambling.”

They pause, looking over at White.

“White?”

“Cyan is dead,” White says robotically. “They killed Cyan.”

“Cyan got caught.”

“Cyan didn’t _have_ to get caught.”

“They put it together, White,” Black says, stepping closer to the table, “there’s nothing we could’ve done without casting suspicion on ourselves.”

“There were _three_ of us,” White hisses, looking up at Black, “we could’ve _counted._ ”

“The votes were cast before we opened our mouths. We still would’ve been outnumbered.”

“You didn’t say a _thing!_ You could’ve said _something!_ ”

“Listen to me,” Black says firmly, leaning on the table, “Cyan is _gone._ There’s no use talking about what _could’ve_ happened.”

“Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” Black growls, towering over White, “these humans are just the same as every other one I’ve ever killed. They _don’t_ care. That’s the _point._ They’d kill us just as quickly as soon as they had the chance.”

White doesn’t say anything.

“We have to _survive,_ ” Black hisses through their teeth, “not just us, but our _people._ And that means to hell with what we feel.”

They stare at White, their gaze boring into their helmet. For long seconds, neither moves. Then White nods slowly. They nod again, sinking into their chair.

“You’re right,” they mutter, “you’re right.”

“Good.” Black glances toward the door, hoping no one heard. No sound from outside. “We’re partners tomorrow. We get a double kill. Blue and Red.”

“Leave the others alive?”

“For now.”

White nods to themselves. “For Cyan.”

Black doesn’t say a word. They rest their hand on White’s shoulder and turn toward their bunk. They spend the night staring up at the ceiling before falling into a light sleep.

They awake as soon as the morning alarm goes off. Across the room, White does the same. They move in sync to make sure their disguises are right and their weapons are stocked. They emerge from their quarters and into the cafeteria.

Orange is in the corner, poking half-heartedly at something on their tray. Next to them, Green fiddles with the panel of wires. Blue and Red are nowhere to be seen.

“Navigation,” White murmurs as they turn the corner to Admin. “But we can’t go back into Cafeteria.”

“We have to be careful.” Black shoulders around the weapons control. “Orange’s station is in here. They probably have tasks. If they’re too close, we won’t have time to come up with an alibi.”

They peer around the corridor to oxygen, listening for the faint voices of Blue and Red.

“Call reactor.”

“What?”

“Draw them to the other side of the ship.” Black jerks their head towards Navigation. “Then we kill them.”

“And run to reactor.”

“Exactly.” They motion to White’s pad. “Get working. I’ll make sure no one else is here.”

As White fiddles with the sabotage device, Black ducks around the corner, walking past the oxygen room towards Navigation. Sure enough, Blue and Red can be heard from inside. They quickly stop by the panel in the hallway and pretend to fix the wires.

“Black? Black, is that you?”

Blue cranes their neck out of the chair. Black nods. “Wires.”

“Where’s your buddy?”

“White is around the corner,” they say smoothly, raising their voice to alert White, “finishing up a task in oxygen.”

“Well, for future reference,” Blue says, “you should try and keep your buddy within sight at all times.”

“Understood.”

Red huffs, their hands tightening on the controls. “Damn Impostor. Can’t believe that freak managed to sneak onto our ship. They fucking murdered two people.”

“I know, Red.”

Red slams their hand against the panel. “Can’t fucking wait to get off this ship.”

They wince, looking up at Blue. “…sorry, Cap.”

“No, Red, it’s…it’s okay.”

Red stares up at Blue. “But Captain, this is—“

“I know,” Blue says, “I know. But…my life is one thing. The risks of space travel are one thing. But this? Impostors?”

Blue shakes their head slowly. “I never signed up for _this. This_ was never part of my agreement.”

They pause, then look slowly down at Red.

“And please…you know I’ve always been ‘Blue’ to you.”

_How sentimental._

Black turns as White comes around the corner. They subtly indicate the all-clear.

“Did you finish?”

White nods, indicating their wrist. “All done.”

“Great. I just have—“ Black tips their head— “three more wires.”

White nods.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

The alarms blare. Red jumps out of their seat with a curse.

“Shit. That’s the reactor! It’s in meltdown.”

“Go on, I’ll catch up!”

“You two,” Red barks, “we gotta—“

They don’t get to finish their sentence as White’s maw opens wide and bites them in half, Red’s head disappearing into a gaping void of tentacles. In three quick strides, Black crosses the deck and has their knife in Blue’s back before they have time to turn around.

“Nothing personal, Captain,” they mutter as they cut Blue’s spinal cord in half.

Blue twitches and falls still. Black lets them drop, turning around to see White’s tentacles flicker back into their body, panting heavily.

“For Cyan.”

“No time,” Black growls as the alarms keep blaring, “down through shields, go!”

They tear out of Navigation, feet pounding on the metal ringing almost as loud as the alarms. As White pulls ahead, Black glances around for anyone else that could’ve spotted them fleeing.

They stumble.

Smash into the threshold of storage.

White turns back to look.

“ _Go!_ ”

The other Impostor turns and bolts.

Black grimaces, getting to their feet and muscling after them around the bend by Electrical. Their balance is thrown off and they stumble again, almost into the wall.

They’re not gonna make it.

A hand grabs their arm and yanks. Hard.

“ _Agh._ ” Black stumbles free, looking around to see who grabbed them.

“Are you okay?”

“Purple?”

Indeed, there’s Purple, coming out of Electrical in time to keep Black from falling over. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

“Good, come on!” Purple’s grip doesn’t leave their arm as they start pulling them toward Reactor.

Black regains their balance and starts running. They tear into the reactor bay in time to see Green fretting over the panels with Orange and White. White turns to looks at Black who shakes their head minutely.

“How do we stop it,” Orange screams over the alarms, “there’s gotta be a way!”

“I just gotta get—there!”

On opposite sides of the room, panels flare green.

“Put your hands on the panels!”

Before Black can react, Purple bolts away, slamming their hand on the panel. Across the room, Orange bites back a curse and dives for it, jamming their palm against the wall until the light underneath their fingers turns blue.

The alarms stop.

Green slumps over the controls, panting.

They did it.

“Green?” Purple rushes over, their arms going around Green’s shoulders and coaxing them away. “Green, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“Aye,” Green mumbles, “aye, Purple, I can hear you.”

“You did great.”

“Reactor went into a full melt-down, kid, that’s not me doing a great job.”

“But you stopped it,” Purple says firmly, “you stopped it. We’re all still here. That’s what’s important.”

Green looks up at them. “…thanks, kid.”

Black and White exchange looks. Then White clears their throat.

“Do we know what happened?”

“No.” Green looks up at the reactor. “I was in here starting it up. All of a sudden it just…went into overload. Like someone sabotaged the control mechanism.”

“That’s worrying.”

“Aye. It is.”

“Perhaps I can help you…fix it,” White offers, taking a step forward, “if you would like.”

“Yeah,” Green pants, wiping an arm across their helmet, “I’d appreciate that.”

“Where’re Blue and Red,” Orange asks from across the room as they straighten up from the panel, “they should’ve come too.”

Purple glances around. “Maybe the lockdown protocols went into effect? Shut the doors, trapped them somehow?”

“I’d better go find them,” Orange mutters as they start out of the room.

Black watches them go. Time to come up with an alibi.

“Did you finish all your tasks,” Black asks Purple, walking up beside them, “before the reactor went off?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no.” Purple looks back into the hallway. “I’ve still got a download in Electrical.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I thought—“

Purple cuts themselves off and takes a step closer.

“I told you,” they say quietly, “I—it’s okay if you want your partner to be White. I’ll be okay on my own.”

“White’s with Green,” Black says, “and you’ve got tasks.”

“Orange just went off by themselves, I’ll—“

“I don’t mind,” Black cuts them off quietly, “I don’t mind, Purple.”

It says something about Purple that the little comment makes them visibly brighten.

“O-okay. It, um, it shouldn’t take that long.” They start out of the room. “This way?”

“Purple and I are gonna go back to Electrical,” Black says, loud enough for Green to hear and clear enough for White to understand, “we’ll be back.”

They follow Purple to Electrical and stand a little ways away, noting how the download panel is right on top of a vent.

They decide to keep that little piece of information for themselves.

“Okay, all done,” Purple huffs after a moment, “now I just gotta upload it.”

“Admin?”

“Admin.”

They start out of Electrical, turning the corner into storage.

“Hey, Black?”

Black looks down.

“Can I, uh, can I ask you a weird favor?”

They tilt their head slightly.

“Is…is that a no?”

“Depends on the favor.”

“Can I hold your hand,” Purple blurts, “just…just for a second? It doesn’t have to be for very long, I just—it’s—you know what, forget it.”

Black stops as Purple starts to fumble with the upload panel. They tilt their head again.

Something twitches in their gut again, tugging slightly.

Purple just saved them from getting injured and practically dragged them halfway to Reactor.

They were the first to act when Green told them what the failsafe was.

They ran to Green as soon as they could to check on them.

They told Green it wasn’t their fault this happened, and that it was important to remember that they were all still alive.

All for a crew that didn’t think twice about them.

Slowly, Black extends their hand.

Purple glances at it, looks away, then does a double-take. Their gaze flashes up to Black’s helmet.

“Oh, you don’t—I know it’s childish, you can just—“

Black cuts them off by moving their hand a little closer.

“…are you sure?”

As a response, the hand turns palm up, an offering.

Purple takes a deep breath and places their hand in Black’s.

For three long seconds, Purple just…lets their hand rest in Black’s. Then they squeeze and let go.

“Thank you.”

“…is that all?”

Purple glances at them as they go back to the upload. “Yeah. That’s all.”

Black looks down at their hand again. Something so small…and yet, it seems to have made Purple…happy.

It isn’t until Orange reports the bodies that Black realizes they’re smiling.

* * *

The first thing they hear when they walk into the cafeteria is the thudding of Orange’s tablet onto the table.

“Orange,” Purple says quietly, “Orange, is—what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Orange laughs hollowly, “what’s _wrong?_ Our Captain and Red are _dead,_ Purple, that’s what’s fucking wrong.”

Purple gulps. “Where...where are their bodies?”

“On the Bridge. Right where they _fucking_ should be.”

Green takes a step forward. “Orange—“

“And that’s not all,” Orange barks harshly, shoving their tablet across the table at the others. “Look at it.”

Green takes a seat and quickly motions for the others to do the same. They look at the tablet.

“…it says ‘Cyan was an Impostor,’” they say slowly, looking up at Orange, “what’s…”

“ _An_ Impostor,” Orange spits, “not _The_ Impostor, _An_ Impostor.”

Next to Black, Purple gasps. “That means there’s—“

“—more than one,” Orange finishes. “Which we would’ve fucking _known_ had anybody bothered to fucking _read._ ”

Silence falls over the table again. Black risks a glance at White. White sits, drumming their fingers on the table.

“Where the fuck was everybody,” Orange snarls, “Green? You were with me in security, weren’t you?”

Green nods. “Except for when I went to check the reactor.”

“Right.”

Orange’s gaze swivels accusingly at the others.

“Black? White? Purple? _Where?_ ”

“I, um,” Purple stammers, “I went straight to Electrical. I had three tasks to do in there and I was alone until reactor was called.”

“Alone,” Green repeats, “by yourself? No partner?”

“Well, I, um, we’re an odd number.” Purple twists their hands together under the table. “You and Orange were together, Black and White were together, and, um…”

“…Blue and Red,” Black finishes when Purple can’t. “That checks out.”

They nod towards Purple. “I can vouch for Purple being in Electrical. They helped get me to the reactor.”

“And after? Where’d you two go?”

“Back to Electrical,” Green says, “when White stayed to help me figure out what was wrong.”

“I had a download to finish, then we went to admin. We were there when Orange, um…called it in.”

“But you were _alone_ for the first part of the round,” Orange stresses, “you could’ve gone anywhere.”

“I—I didn’t!”

“And we’re just supposed to take your _word_ for that?”

Something twists inside Black’s gut and they frown.

“No,” they say firmly, “you can take mine. It’s not Purple.”

Orange looks like they want to argue but Green cuts them off. “Okay, okay. Black and White, where were you two?”

“We passed you earlier in the cafeteria,” White says, nodding to Green, “and then I had to go to Oxygen and Black had wires outside of Navigation.”

“Navigation? Were Blue and Red in there when you went?”

“Very much there, and very much alive.”

Green drums their fingers on the table. “So it sounds like you and Black were the last ones to see ‘em that way.”

“Yeah,” Orange growls, “that’s real suspicious.”

“If I remember _correctly,_ Orange,” White says sharply, “I arrived at the reactor around the same time _you_ did. Now, if I was coming all the way from Navigation, and you were only in Security, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

They lean forward, steepling their fingers together.

“Isn’t _that_ a little suspicious?”

Green glances over. “…you _did_ leave for a…considerable amount of time.”

Orange balks. “You—you aren’t seriously thinking it’s _me,_ are you?”

“I’m just saying that—“

“Black and White literally _admitted_ they were the last ones to see Blue and Red alive!”

“That’s true,” Black says, “but _you_ were the one to report the bodies. We saw Blue and Red alive, but _you_ were the first one to see them dead.”

Everyone turns to look at Orange. Orange looks frantically back and forth between all of them.

“You—this is fucking ridiculous, how the fuck could you think it’s me?”

Their gaze flicks to Green.

“Green, you’re not seriously buying this fucking crap, are you?”

“I don’t know, Orange,” Green says slowly, “they’re making a lot of sense.”

“A lot of _sense?”_ Orange throws themselves to their feet. “Black and White _literally_ admitted that they saw them! They were there!”

“Yeah, but—“

“So—so what, you’re just gonna—you’re just gonna take their word over mine? And what about Purple?” Orange jabs a finger at Purple. “They were fucking _alone_ for most of the round and you’re just gonna let that slide?”

“Now hold on, there, Orange,” Green says sternly, “you’re throwing around a _lot_ of accusations here.”

White hums. “Orange’s been throwing around a lot of accusations a couple of times, now.”

“Are you _fucking—“_ Orange slams their hands down onto the table. “I was the one who convinced White to kill Cyan!”

White stiffens imperceptibly and Black seizes it.

“Only _after_ Green figured out that Cyan must’ve been using the vents.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you sussing Green? They’re the one who _thought_ of that in the first place!”

“Now you stop that,” Green says angrily, “I haven’t done anything—“

“Oh, oh, you haven’t done anything?” Orange whirls on Green. “The reactor just _happens_ to fucking go into a meltdown? Right when you _conveniently_ are in there by yourself? Since no one cares about _Purple_ being alone, maybe that shouldn’t mean anything for you either!”

“Guys—“

“Shut it, kid, the adults are talking.” Orange points an accusing finger at Green. “How many fucking tasks could you possibly _have_ in reactor _anyway,_ you’ve been hanging around there a lot—“

“Yeah, with _you._ ” Green gets to their feet as well. “Because reactor is my _job,_ Orange. Matter of fact, let’s talk about _that,_ shall we? Since we’re throwing around accusations?”

They lean forward over the table.

“Your job’s in bloody Weapons, isn’t it? Why’re you buddying with me if our tasks are on the complete opposite sides of the ship? Only—“ they lean further— “you haven’t been sticking with me, have you?”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“You’ve been popping off on your own for a lot of rounds now,” Green hisses, “always conveniently right back at my side when the bodies are called. Almost like you’re gonna use me as your alibi so that we won’t look twice at _you_ when the accusations start going. Mighty convenient that _you’re_ the one throwing ‘em.”

“How the fuck could you _say_ that to me, Green?” Orange slams their hands on the table. “You fucking _know_ me, Green.”

“Not enough to realize you’d throw me under the bus when you first think it’s convenient!”

“You _fucking—“_

“E _nough!_ ”

Orange and Green freeze, Orange’s fist cocked back and Green about to fist the front of their suit. They turn slowly to look at Purple.

Purple stands. Black actually has to look _up_ at them. None of the fear in their posture remains and the force of their shout still echoes around the room.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” they continue, staring at Orange and Green, “and _shouting_ and _fighting_ isn’t helping anyone.”

They point down the corridor toward the reactor.

“Whether or not there is another Impostor on board, that doesn’t change the fact that we just had a _full reactor meltdown._ Yes, Blue and Red are dead. Yes, I’m grieving them too, but that doesn’t mean we get to stop _working._ ”

Silence.

“If we don’t stop _fighting,_ the whole ship could blow up. We have tasks to finish and it is our _job_ to make sure that doesn’t happen. If we don’t do it, then it won’t matter who the Impostor is, because we’ll all be dead anyway.”

They take a step back.

“So if you all want to sit around here and _glare_ at each other until someone drops dead, be my guest. _I’m_ going to go make sure we don’t blow up. If anyone cares, I’ll be in the engine rooms.”

Purple turns and leaves.

By the time their footsteps fade into the distance, Orange and Green still haven’t moved. It takes several more seconds for them to slowly move apart and sink back down into their seats.

Black’s still staring at the corridor where Purple left.

Purple just…huh.

From the previous meetings, they knew Blue was the main reason all of them didn’t devolve into shouting, and it wasn’t too much of a leap to figure out that Red would’ve done the same. When this meeting had started, as expected, all they need to do was stir the pot a little and sit back to watch Orange and Green shout.

Purple…Purple was unexpected.

Black glances around the table. Orange stares at the Emergency button blankly. Green fiddles with their tablet. White stares at Black.

They know what White’s thinking. Another double kill. Finish it right here. Seems they didn’t read the text that said ‘ _Two Impostors remain.’_

White stares at Black, then tips their head slightly.

“I’m going to check on Purple,” Black mutters, getting up and walking away.

Black’s boots thud on the floor as they turn the corner into the engine room. They glance around. No Purple. No Purple in the lower engine either.

Scufflings come from Electrical.

Purple stands with their back to the entrance. Their fingers fumble with the panel in front of them. Black stands there for a moment, watching.

Purple’s fingers are shaking slightly. If they listen, they can hear the slightly muffled breaths over the buzzing of the machines.

_Yes, Blue and Red are dead. Yes, I’m grieving them too._

None of the other humans had even bothered to mourn, only Purple.

Their pad buzzes. It’s White. They’re in position to kill Orange. All Black has to do is message back and it’ll be over. They’ll have the human they need.

Purple starts to turn around and _squeaks,_ jumping back.

“Oh my gosh, Black,” they manage, “you—you startled me.”

“Mm.”

“No, it’s—it’s okay.” Purple slumps against the wall for a second. “I, um—I’m sorry for yelling back there. I, uh, I know everyone’s just…upset.”

Black blinks in surprise. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because everyone deals with grief differently,” they say quietly, “and, um…it was unfair of me to try and make them do something they weren’t ready for.”

“If you hadn’t said anything,” Black says, taking a step forward, “they’d’ve torn each other to shreds.”

“I know.” Purple bows their head. “I…I guess I just didn’t want them to do that.”

They sigh, their breath coming out shaky.

“I just…even if we don’t all get along all the time,” they mumble after a second, “we’re all still a family, aren’t we?”

_What kind of family are you used to, Purple?_

“There’s no one coming for us,” Purple continues, “it’s just us out here. If we don’t stick together, well…then we’re all doomed.”

The corner of Black’s mouth tugs up again. Another smile, hidden beneath the helmet.

Little Purple…

“Sorry,” Purple says, shaking themselves, “I, um…that was probably something you didn’t ask for. I, um, I just had to divert—the engine power went off when the reactor was called and I had to divert it back from here before I could go fix it.”

“It’s alright,” Black says quietly. They turn. “Should we go to the engines now?”

“Y-yeah.” As Purple starts out of Electrical, they pause. “And thank you, Black.”

“For what?”

“Listening.”

The fact that Purple is _thanking_ them for doing something as small as listening makes the smile drop.

“When you say the crew is your family,” Black says as Purple gets to work in the engine room, “what did you mean?”

“A crew is a family,” Purple repeats, “isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

“I’m not sure everyone else sees it the way you do.”

“I just—we’re all stuck together on a ship in the middle of space. We’re alone out here. We live, eat, sleep, work together. Shouldn’t we be able to make our own family?”

That’s…well, that’s quite a sweet image.

An image that is smeared with dirt every time the crew gets together. Every time _Purple_ tries to get them together.

“…I don’t think the world is that…” Black struggles for the right word. “… _kind,_ Purple.”

Purple just turns to look at them.

“But it could be.”

* * *

Purple’s scolding of the others does the trick. For the next few days, everyone gets back to work, even if Orange and Green are walking on eggshells around each other. Black stays with White and Purple, dispatching White to help Green in the reactor while Orange works in security. The ship starts to function a little more normally, even though no one finds their sabotage equipment.

White is starting to get impatient. The atmosphere on the ship is tense. There are only five of them left now. Another double kill would finish it. Black manages to keep them in check, if not through sheer power plays, but it won’t last forever.

Something’s gotta give.

As it turns out, that something is Orange.

White is in Navigation, keeping them on the ‘correct’ course. Black leaves them there and starts off toward comms to double-check no one’s gotten suspicious of their lack of communication yet. They near the door and pause.

Panting. Heavy breathing. The squeaking of the suits.

There’s someone inside.

Black quickly glances around. No sign of anyone. White’s too far away and there are no vents that lead here cleanly.

They risk a peek around the corner, still hidden in shadow.

Orange sits underneath the comm desk, their knees tucked up, their back in the corner, their helmet in their hands. Even from this far away, Black can feel the amount of adrenaline coursing through them, almost _smell_ the fear roiling off of them. Their fingers twitch toward the knife at their belt.

Footsteps.

Black jerks their head around in time to see Purple come around the corner. Purple stops, about to ask what Black’s doing, obviously, only to hear Orange.

Purple creeps forward and looks in too. Their shoulders slump.

“How long have they been like this?” They murmur.

“I just got here.”

“Okay. Keeping watch?”

“…yeah.”

“Okay.” Purple takes a deep breath. “You mind watching for a little longer?”

“…sure.”

Purple walks into comms. Almost immediately, Orange looks up and scrambles away.

“Hey, hey,” Purple calls, their voice as soothing as Black’s ever heard _anyone_ sound, holding their hands up, “it’s just me. It’s just me, Orange.”

“G-go away,” Orange struggles to say, “go _away._ ”

“You’re having a panic attack, sweetheart,” Purple murmurs, “okay?”

“I—I—“

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay—“ Purple takes a tiny step forward— “it’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help, yeah?”

Orange’s head turns shakily to look at Purple. Purple gives them a little wave.

“Can I come over to you, sweetheart? Is that okay?”

They get a jerky nod in response.

“Thank you. I’m gonna move really slow so you won’t get scared, okay? Okay, I’m gonna start walking…” Purple takes a step. “If at any point you want me to stop you just say so, okay, sweetheart?”

Purple creeps across the room, their hands still raised, edging over to Orange. Orange’s gaze stays fixed on Purple, not noticing Black still in the doorway.

“Hey,” Purple says softly, crouch down next to Orange, “I’m right here. You did great, sweetie, I’m right here.”

“P-Purple?”

“Yeah, honey, it’s me. Can I touch you?” Orange gives another shaky nod. “Thank you.”

They lay their hand gently on Orange’s calf, rubbing soothing circles with their thumb.

“You’re okay, sweetie, can you take a breath for me?”

Orange gasps.

“Good. Good job, sweetheart, how about another? Come on, match your breathing to mine…”

Purple starts to take long, exaggerated breaths, encouraging Orange to do the same. After a few times, Orange starts, only for their breathing to turn into hacking coughs halfway through.

“I—I can’t—“

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, honey, it’s not gonna happen right away. You just keep trying, okay? Come on, we can do it, in…”

Black watches, amazed, as Orange starts to follow along. Purple’s hand stays on their leg.

“That’s it…good job, sweetheart, you’re doing so well, you’re doing a great job. I’m really proud of you.”

Orange lets out a harsh sob that might’ve supposed to be a laugh.

“I _am,_ sweetheart, panic attacks are hard. You’re doing great, just keep breathing for me.”

“P-Purple, I—“

“Shh, hey, hey, don’t try to talk just yet, okay? You gotta start breathing again first…there’s no rush, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

Orange makes a frantic grab for Purple’s hands. Purple takes them gently.

“There…there, I’m right here, okay? Can you squeeze my hands?”

Orange squeezes.

“Good…good job. You do that and you just breathe for me, okay? That’s all I want you to do. You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to _think_ right now if you don’t want to. Just breathe, honey, just breathe.”

Orange all but _melts_ under Purple’s gentle attention, their head sagging to their chest as it continues to shudder.

Black can’t say they blame them.

When the hitches turn softer, a comforting noise comes out of Purple and they shuffle a little closer.

“Shh, shh, oh, honey, it’s okay, come here…” They pull Orange gently into an embrace, cradling them so tenderly Black can _see_ the relief radiating off of Orange. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, I gotcha. It’s okay…”

Orange’s hands flex in the back of Purple’s suit and their helmets bang together.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Purple soothes when Orange whines, “it’s okay, you didn’t hurt me, come here…”

They pull back a little and gently free their hands.

“Can I take your helmet off, sweetie?” Orange mumbles something too quiet for Black to hear. “I know it’s against protocol, but you don’t want all that to stay in there, it’s gonna get foggy, trust me.”

Black’s gaze flicks to the discarded chair, almost seeing a phantom of Brown.

_Kid’s one hell of a crybaby._

Something in their gut growls.

“Thank you, sweetheart, ready? Here we go…” Purple’s fingers deftly undo the clasps on Orange’s helmet, lifting it off and setting it aside. They make another comforting noise at the evidence of tears.

“Come here, sweetie, I’ve gotcha…” Purple laces one of their hands through Orange’s and lifts the other to their shoulder. “You hold here for me, yeah? Squeeze if you need to.”

Orange’s eyes squeeze shut as Purple starts to dab away Orange’s tears. The tenderness of the gesture makes a lump appear in Black’s throat.

“I know my gloves are rough, sweetheart, I’m sorry…” Purple fishes in their belt and pull out a tissue. “Here.”

Orange takes it and scrubs at their face, blowing their nose with a _honk._

“There—here, I gotcha.” Purple takes it and tosses it into the wastebasket. “You feeling a little better?”

“Guess so…” Orange looks up at Purple. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, darling, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Orange laughs bitterly. “Haven’t I?”

  
“You don’t _ever_ have to apologize for having a panic attack,” Purple says firmly, “trust me.”

“Not that.” Orange flaps their hand. “Everything else. I’ve been an asshole.”

“You’re grieving,” comes Purple’s soft voice, “and you’re scared. That’s not your fault, we’re all scared. And right now all we have to do is survive. Nothing else.”

“S-survive?”

“Yeah. That’s it. We’re all scared, we’re all in _way_ over our heads, we don’t know what the hell we’re doing—“ Orange huffs again— “so we just have to survive. That’s it. No one expects anything else from us.”

Orange sniffs. “ _You_ seem to be doing fine.”

“I can _promise_ you,” comes the quiet response, “I am also about three seconds from having a complete breakdown at all times.”

“You’re hiding it a hell of a lot better than I am.”

“Well, I’m used to it. Putting on a brave face and all that.”

At Orange’s questioning look, Purple tilts their head.

“If I let myself get stopped every time I was scared I’d never get anything done. Plus,” they add, nudging Orange, “isn’t that what you guys are always telling me to do? Suck it up, get on with it?”

Orange makes a noise. Black’s fist tightens.

“I’m not saying _you_ have to do that, darling.”

“We’ve all been assholes to you,” they mumble, “haven’t we?”

“I’m the baby of the group, remember?” Black bites back a snarl. “I kind of expected it.”

“…you…you’re _really_ too nice to be out here, kid,” Orange says finally, “you’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

Purple shrugs.

“How can you _do_ this?”

There’s a pause. Then Purple tilts their head.

“Kind people aren’t kind because they’re born kind,” they say softly, “they’re kind because they know the world isn’t.”

“…it _really_ isn’t.”

Purple picks up Orange’s helmet to pass it back to them. “But it could be.”

As Orange moves to put their helmet back on, Black blinks. Shit. They’re gonna come out here in a second and while _Purple_ may be fine with Black having stood here the whole time, Orange might not be. Black looks up, turning around to go back to somewhere else.

And comes face to face with White.

_Shit._

“Quarters,” White says lowly, “ _now._ ”

Black doesn’t try to have the argument here.

“I was going to call you,” they say as soon as the door slides closed.

“No,” White says lowly, “you weren’t. Because I walked up to you _and stood there._ For several minutes while you _watched._ ”

“There were two of them, I couldn’t—“

“You weren’t even paying attention!” White stabs a finger at them. “You were just _watching!_ ”

Black stays silent.

“Why haven’t we done anything,” White snarls, walking closer, “it’s been _days._ This crew is about to fall apart at the seams, you saw what happened out there!”

Their hand waves in the vague direction of the cafeteria.

“We could’ve _finished_ it,” they continue, “a double kill would’ve _ended_ it! There're only three crew members left, we could’ve killed Purple and Orange and—“

“No.”

White balks. “ _No?_ ”

“No,” Black repeats firmly, crossing their arms, “besides, it’s too late now.”

“But it wouldn’t have been if we just _did it!”_

Black remains silent. White huffs.

“What has gotten _into_ you? The double kill was _your_ idea. You’re the one that said Green was the most important one to leave alive. _You’re_ the one that said we couldn’t kill Orange because they were accusing _us,_ but now they’ve accused everyone! And one of the first things you said was that Purple is disposable!”

“Purple is _not_ disposable,” Black growls.

“Oh, what, because they stopped their other human from crying?” White scoffs, turning around. “I heard that fluffy nonsense, don’t tell me you got _swayed_ by that.”

When Black doesn’t respond, White looks over their shoulder.

“Oh…oh you _were,_ weren’t you?” They take a step closer. “You’ve gone _soft._ ”

“I can assure you,” Black growls, stepping forward as well, “I have not _gone soft._ ”

“No? Then why are Purple and Orange still _breathing?_ ”

“You said it yourself.” Black steps forward again. “This ship is falling apart. If we strike too soon, we could lose—“

‘And why do _you_ always get to make the call?”

“Because _I’m_ the one in charge here.”

“And why’s that?” White gets closer. “Because you’ve done this more than I have? Because you know this ship better? Why, Black, because you’re showing the mistakes of a _rookie._ ”

“I’m no rookie,” Black says lowly, moving until they’re looming over White, “and you would do _well_ to remember that.”

“Wow,” White chuckles remorselessly, “these humans _really_ got to you, didn’t they? All that mush about kindness filling your head up?”

They gasp mockingly.

“Oh, is it Purple? Is Purple making you soft?” Their voice hardens. “Them and their stupid nonsense about _kind_ people and a _kind_ world. Have you forgotten what humans _do?”_

White gestures around.

“They _destroy,_ Black. They consume and take and _murder_ and they don’t _care._ Humans aren’t _kind,_ Black. We can’t afford to be _either._ Though if you’re so _concerned_ about it, maybe you can think of killing them as a _mercy._ ”

Black doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll see,” White mutters as they storm out of the room, “you’ll see. Humans aren’t _kind,_ Black. There’s nothing to be gained from being _kind._ This world isn’t kind.”

_But it could be,_ Black thinks as the doors slide shut.

* * *

For the next few days, Black doesn’t let Purple out of their sight. Green and Orange must’ve talked because they never stray far from each other’s side either. Purple doesn’t seem to notice the change in the air, nor the fact that no one sees much of White. They just keep going about their tasks as Black keeps a watchful eye out.

They catch glimpses of White every now and then, or the shuttering of a vent, but nothing else. Their skin prickles.

They stand on top of the vent when Purple is in Electrical or med bay. They keep Purple behind them whenever they can, even shielding them in the reactor when Green and Orange are only a few feet away. If Purple does notice their increased scrutiny, they don’t say anything.

Then they make a mistake.

They’re with Orange in Weapons, having left Green with Purple—at Purple’s insistence—in Security. Orange is finishing up a download and turns to leave when the oxygen alarm starts to blare.

“ _Shit!_ ”

“Get to oxygen,” Black barks, already running, “I’ll go to admin.”

“You got it!”

Oxygen is the best way to separate the crew. Black barrels right past admin, scanning.

They see White walking through storage, headed for Electrical.

_Purple._

Black sprints across the room and grabs White by the collar.

  
“You _bastard,_ ” White screams over the alarms as Black throws them out of the way, “you _know_ what we have to do!”

“You don’t get to touch Purple,” Black growls, advancing on White as they brandish their knife, their maw already dripping.

“They’ve _ruined_ you,” White snarls, lunging forward, “I’m doing you a _favor._ ”

White is clawing and biting to get to Purple, furious. But so is Black.

And Black is _bigger._

White howls as Black’s own maw splits open, catching White and shoving them backward.

“You should be _thanking me!”_ They scream in fury as Black muscles them to the other side of Storage. “Once I kill them you’ll be _free!_ No more distractions!”

The wall groans in protest as Black slams White up against it, their claws digging into White’s chest. They lift them off the floor effortlessly.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch Purple.”

“And where,” White cries, “was this ferocity when _Cyan_ was ejected? Or have you forgotten our third member so easily?”

“They were already _dead,_ White! We can’t save them now, that can’t be!”

White’s maw grins horribly. “But it _could_ be.”

Black snarls. “Don’t you _dare_ use their words.”

“Their words? _Their_ words?” White’s mocking cackles ring through the room. “Who _are_ you?”

“Someone who’s telling you to keep your filthy hands off of Purple,” Black growls, their grip tightening, “or else.”

“ _My_ filthy hands?” White scowls and leans down to Black even as Black shoves them harder against the wall. “Don’t forget, they’re _your_ filthy hands too. You’re as deep into this as I am.”

Black snarls, lifting White bodily and hurling them out of the room, sabotaging the doors. They can hear White’s howl of rage as they close.

“ _Hey!_ The doors just closed!”

_Purple._

Black sprints to the other side. Their fingers dig into the metal of the door and _heave._ No human could hope to open these doors.

But an Impostor can.

“Purple,” Black yells, grabbing their arm, “we gotta go.”

“What happened? Are you—“

“There’s no _time._ ” _How few seconds do they have?_ “We have to run _now._ ”

Purple sprints behind them as they crash into admin, Black diving for the panel and punching in the code.

With one second left, the system stabilizes.

Black collapses against the wall, their head throwing back to bang against the metal. They wave off Purple’s noise of protest. Purple isn’t doing much better, falling to the floor. Black looks down.

There’s a tear in their suit. White must’ve grabbed them. They fix it before anyone can see.

“Are you okay,” Purple pants, “are—are you—?”

“I’m fine, Purple,” Black says, their breathing already back under control as they straighten up, “are _you?_ ”

“Y-yeah, I’m—just—just tired.”

“Where’s—“

As if on cue, Green bursts into the room. “Oh, oh thank god, you’re both— _jeez._ ”

“Weren’t you with them,” Black asks sharply, “why were you so far behind?”

“I was in the engine room, the doors closed on me,” Green explains breathlessly, “I thought I wasn’t gonna make it.”

They nod at Black. “Thank god you were here, huh?”

“Hey! _Hey!_ You _fucker!”_

_Orange._

Green tears out of the room, swiftly followed by Purple. Black follows just in time to see Orange scramble to hit the button, White chasing them with a knife.

“It’s White,” Orange pants as the meeting calls, “they just—they just fucking came after me with a knife.”

White growls, still advancing on Orange.

“Stop!” Purple darts forward to try and get between them.

Before they can think, Black’s already reaching out to catch them.

“Don’t,” they warn quietly as Green and Orange recover swiftly, “you’ll only get yourself hurt.”

“Airlock,” Green barks as they and Orange start to grab hold of White, “ _now._ ”

White flails, trying to reach out for Black, their maw opening with an ear-splitting shriek. It doesn’t sound like anything to the humans, probably, but Black hears them loud and clear.

“ _Traitor,”_ White shrieks in their mother tongue, “ _you’re a filthy traitor! You will pay for this!”_

Black follows White, kicking and screaming, all the way to the airlock. Green shoves them inside as Orange slams their fist onto the button.

The four of them watch as White spirals away, their maw hanging open lifelessly as their tongue lolls out of their mouth.

“That,” Green mutters after a moment, “is fucking _foul._ ”

“No kidding.” Orange shakes themselves. “I’m gonna have nightmares about that for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“Are you okay, Orange?” Purple asks quietly.

“We just ejected a fucking _freak_ off our ship, kid, I don’t think any of us are okay.” Orange shakes their head. “I gotta say, Black, I dunno what we’d do without you. You’re a real team player, you know that?”

Black feels nothing as Orange slaps them on the shoulder. They don’t move when the others go to walk away. Purple stays by their side a moment longer, trying to ask a question, but they too leave.

Black stares out into space as White’s lifeless body drifts into the cold vacuum.

_You’re a real team player._

Black is the last Impostor on the ship. White is dead. Cyan is dead.

…White was right. They’d done this before. They _knew_ how this had to go. The humans should be _dead._ The mission should be complete by now. They’d been growing complacent, content. _Comfortable._

On a ship full of humans that call them _freaks._

Black takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

_We’re all scared. And right now all we have to do is survive. Nothing else._

Nothing else.

Black is a senior Impostor for a reason. As they turn and walk down the hallway, their remaining anger cools.

No more distractions.

* * *

“You _motherfucker—_ “ Orange stumbles backward, clutching their side, “we fucking _trusted_ you—“

They won’t bleed out fast enough. Black holsters the knife.

Orange collapses under the engine. They shy away, still hurling insults.

“You’re a fucking monster, you—“

The bullet enters their heart and they die instantly. Black lowers the gun and puts it away. They wait.

A few seconds later, Green comes into the room.

“I heard a gunshot, is everything—holy—“

Before Green has a chance to do anything, Black reports the body.

“It was Green,” Black says as soon as they get to the cafeteria where Purple is shaking, “I saw it. They killed right in front of me.”

“That’s a fucking lie!’ Green points at them. “You did it! I fucking walked in on you doing it!”

“No.” Black cuts them off firmly. “It was you. You lured them to the engine room and killed them. I was on the other side of the ship. _You_ were supposed to be their buddy.”

“You’re fucking _sick,_ Black!” Green stares at Purple. “Purple, you gotta believe me, they murdered Orange!”

“Why would I murder Orange,” Black counters, “they sniffed you out. They started talking about the sabotage last time and how you were always right where you needed to be and you got spooked. So you shut them up.”

“No, I did _not!_ ”

“Pretty convenient that your job is in reactor, isn’t it? And that the reactor went into meltdown?” Black sits at the table. “Matter of fact, didn’t Orange _say_ that and you just brushed it aside? It wasn’t until the _rest_ of us started asking questions that you threw it back in their face.”

“Because Orange was pointing fingers at me for no reason!” Green’s voice keeps rising. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Except be in charge of a reactor that _conveniently_ melts down.”

“ _You_ try being in charge of a reactor! It’s not as easy as just pushing buttons!” Green stabs a finger at them again. “And what about _you!_ ”

“What about me?”

“ _You_ were all buddy-buddy with _both_ White and Cyan the whole time! _You_ were with them when they came from Navigation after Red and Blue were killed!”

“Then why haven’t I killed Purple,” Black says, gesturing, “if I’m the Impostor? Why did I kill Orange earlier? Why didn’t I defend White or Cyan?”

“You—you’re a fucking _freak,_ ” Green spits, “you’re _sick!_ ”

“Orange had your number and you knew you had to shut them up,” Black says calmly, “so you killed them.”

“No, I _didn’t!_ ”

Both of them turn to Purple, Green panting heavily.

“Purple, Purple you gotta believe me, kid, I didn’t—I would _never_ hurt Orange. Orange was—an asshole, yeah, but they were _our_ asshole. I wouldn’t—I didn’t—“

They swallow, still gasping.

“You _gotta_ believe me.”

“Purple doesn’t have to do _anything,”_ Black says softly, letting a bit of anger slip into their voice, “you’ve been rude to them the whole time. You _and_ the others.”

At last. Green falters.

Black turns back to Purple. Purple’s gaze flicks frantically back and forth between the two of them, their hands shaking on their tablet.

One more push.

“Purple,” Black calls softly, waiting for Purple to look at them, “ _trust me._ ”

Purple’s hands still. They look back at Green.

“…I’m sorry.”

That’s all the permission Black needs. As Purple casts their vote, Black stands up and hoists Green over their shoulder. They ignore Green’s weak flails as they stride to the airlock. Green keeps screaming as the door closes.

Black hits the button.

Green’s lifeless body flies out of the airlock.

They exhale slowly.

It’s done.

Mission accomplished.

No more distractions.

Faintly, they hear the quiet blips of the text on Purple’s tablet.

And a wave of fear crashes over them so strongly their maw starts to water.

Beside them, Purple goes as rigid as a board, their tablet falling to the ground from motionless fingers and smashing with a loud _crack._ That feeling twists in Black’s gut again as they turn to look at Purple, only to blink in shock when Purple is already halfway down the corridor, the fear still reeking off of them.

Black stands there for a moment, watching.

Green was the strategic choice to leave alive. They worked on the reactor. They were older and more experienced. They could’ve been more useful.

And yet it isn’t regret that curls in Black’s gut, no. They knew regret. This…this weird feeling that had plagued them since setting foot on this ship was something new.

The feeling in Black’s gut coils up, burning hot. They can feel their tongue sharpen, aching to bury deep into the heart of whoever poses a threat. It pulls them forward. It’s desperate to get out, into the air of the ship, after the trail of fear Purple left behind. Yet neither the knife on their belt nor the gun in its holster grows any heavier.

Instead, the image of Purple somewhere on this ship, alone, cold, _afraid_ makes Black ache.

Black knows they need Purple to complete the next stage of the mission. They know they could easily terrify Purple into compliance and, probably, they already have.

If they’re being honest, they went to Electrical with the intention of doing just that.

But…

Look, alright.

There is no love lost between Black and humans. Black does not owe humanity _shit_ and if it took wiping their presence from space to get back Polus, they’d do it in an instant.

But _you_ try being all scary to a shaking little Purple that _just_ wants to help and be kind.

So Black changes tactics.

Purple.

Sweet, kind, _scared_ little Purple. The poor thing reeks so strongly it makes Black’s eyes water. Admittedly, comforting someone—much less a _human—_ is far from Black’s area of expertise.

But if Black is being _very_ honest, they recognized the _relief_ and _protectiveness_ that curled in their gut the instant Green’s body vanished.

Purple is so _little._ And so light. The feeling purrs when Black sweeps Purple into their arms, into their lap, over their knee. _Little one, sweet one, scared one._

It isn’t easy, not as easy as it should have been, perhaps. Poor Purple is so _scared,_ so desperately afraid. But Purple, sweet Purple, keeps trying to hide it, probably out of more fear. Fear that they shouldn’t be scared, that they had to pretend to be strong when they couldn’t.

There’s no one else here. No distractions. No one to yell at Purple to suck it up, stop being a crybaby, no one to shame Purple with rejection. And despite their fear, Purple listens. They sit and they listen and they grow horrified as Black tells them their story. They _apologize._ Black’s chest keeps aching as Purple tends to their crew, showing them a respect that they _did_ not earn.

Black has heard stories about humans, stories they’d never believed. Stories about Impostors that were discovered and, instead of being killed, were welcomed into the crew. Stories about how human pack instincts drove them to accept the Impostors, treat them as equals. Stories about Impostors that had fallen in love with humans, bonded to them as mates, or formed a pack.

Those stories always made Black scoff, sick of the warm fuzzy shit that Impostors made up to keep the fear at bay. Or worse, rumors circulated as human propaganda to coax naive Impostors into revealing themselves.

They certainly never believed that the love of a human could make an Impostor change.

Black is not a rookie. They’ve been with humans on many missions, many runs. Many kills. Even the ones that sounded like they could be the beginning of those lies were ejected into the cold vacuum of space or silenced with a well-placed shot.

When they see the shoebox full of the badges and IDs, when Purple shakingly says that they wanted to get _White’s_ and _Cyan’s,_ not just Green’s, something shifts _._

Purple had nothing to gain from keeping those badges. From going _out of their way_ to get them. From seeing their crew dead and lifeless, betrayed, to be honest, just to collect them. No other humans that Black had ever… _served_ with seems the wrong term, but served with—had done that.

Let _alone_ feel guilty that they hadn’t retrieved anything for the Impostors.

Then their eyes catch the scratch on Purple’s back.

Keeping humans in good condition keeps them alive. That’s what they’ll say when they take Purple back to the med bay.

Conserving resources is essential on board any spacecraft. That’s what they’ll say when they ask about Purple’s undersuit as opposed to just cutting it off.

Energy distribution can be lethal if done incorrectly. That’s what they’ll say when they worry about the med bay being kept so cold.

They’ll say it has nothing to do with the fact that seeing blood spattered across Purple’s suit and back makes Black’s maw snarl. They’ll say it has _absolutely_ nothing to do with the fact that seeing Purple flinch at every touch has the thought of cutting the suit off right away making Black’s hands itch. And they’ll say it _definitely_ has nothing to do with how Purple’s shivering has Black’s body warming up instinctively.

“I really don’t know why they keep this place so cold, look at you, you’re…”

They stop.

Reach out a hand to gently lay their fingers against Purple’s leg.

All hope of excusing their tenderness as a way to coerce Purple into cooperating vanish. But there’s no one else here.

The scars piss Black _all_ the way off. They’d been around enough humans to know what those scars meant. And they’d been on this ship long enough to know why Purple might _have_ those scars.

Purple huddles on the dingy med bay bed, clutching their bloodstained suit like a comfort teddy. That on its _own_ was enough to send Black’s gut roiling, flashing for a second to what _could’ve_ happened if they hadn’t caught White in time.

The fear doesn’t abate as Black climbs carefully onto the bed, bracketing Purple’s shaking form between their legs. It’s strong enough that Black’s hold on their disguise starts to slip, softening the hard, bulky suit into something else. Something to cradle Purple, not hurt them.

“Shh, shh, baby,” they manage around the furious lump in their throat, “it’s—it’s okay, I’ve gotcha, I’ve…I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Purple _keens_ and their chest rumbles before they realize.

“No more sharp objects, baby, no more—“ they make a mental note to keep the knife somewhere else. Their grip tightens. “I promised I’d protect you, baby…nothing’s gonna hurt you, nothing, you understand?”

“B-Black?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here, what do you need?”

“I’m—I’m _scared._ ”

“I know, baby, I know…”

“I’m so _scared,_ I’m so _scared_ Black, I—I can’t—I... _I—_ “

“I’m not gonna hurt you, baby, you’re gonna be fine, I’m gonna protect you, nothing’s gonna hurt you. I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Purple’s next sentence is interrupted by another sob. Black coos quietly, gently moving their hand to rest on Purple’s shaking stomach. They close their eyes, willing the protectiveness to _settle,_ try to push _warmth, safety, comfort_ through their hands.

“You gotta breathe for me baby, come on…shh, shh…there you go.”

“…Black?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Why…why are you being so…sweet?”

_Sweet? Black?_

The idea makes them laugh. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I haven’t…I haven’t been ‘sweet,’ I’ve…I’ve just been scared.”

_Oh, Purple…_

“You haven’t been dragging your feet kicking and screaming,” Black says instead, “you haven’t called me a freak or a monster or cussed me out. You were insistent on taking care of things properly and you’ve listened to me. And, as I said before, the first thing you did when I told you the truth was apologize and ask how you could help.”

“…that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Not to sound _too_ condescending, but…have you seen yourself when you’re scared, Purple?”

“…no?”

“You have no idea how endearing it is,” Black murmurs, smiling a little to themselves, “and how…well, you’re adorable, Purple.”

“…is that the only reason?”

“No, baby, that’s not the only reason. You…”

_You were the only one to be kind to me when I first arrived._

_Despite everything that happened, that I did, you were still sweet._

_You are terrified and struggling to stand right now, baby, and still, you are being kind._

_The others never deserved you._

“…you’re worth being sweet to.”

“I...am?”

The disbelief in their voice hurts. Black hisses softly, their disguise further slipping away as they curl around their baby. They blink, considering something.

Slowly, they change their helmet into a face. A face they haven’t worn in a long, _long_ time. Not Purple’s face, nor any other crew members, but a face that…maybe Purple won’t be so scared of.

“Yeah, Purple,” they promise softly, their new lips brushing the shell of Purple’s ear, “you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black: I am a senior Impostor. Humans mean nothing to me. There is nothing but my work. I am hard to understand and I care for no one. 
> 
> Purple: *exists*
> 
> Black:
> 
> Black: mine. my human. i am soft now for this human. they are babey and you will die screaming if you dare hurt them.


	4. Purple: The Skeld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship is quiet now. There are only two of them left. But someone has to get the Skeld to Polus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple: *is still traumatized* 
> 
> Black: ...shit okay wait *frantically flips through the Impostor Handbook* HOW DO I TAKE CARE OF THE HUMAN BABEY THEY ARE NOT OKAY

After a few minutes—or, honestly, Purple’s lost track of time at this point—the silence of the med bay is abruptly cut off by a loud gurgle.

“Come on,” Black chuckles as Purple’s face burns in shame, “let’s get you something to _eat,_ okay?”

“Okay.”

Black starts to stand up and the sudden absence of warmth makes Purple shudder. They blink away the last of their tears and start trying to pull their suit back on.

“Try not to move too much,” comes Black’s voice that sounds…different again, what’s happening?—“don’t want you to split it again.”

Purple just nods and keeps trying to pull the suit back on. Their fingers don’t want to hold onto it. The suit is covered in blood. There’s a massive scratch up the back. Their helmet lies on the floor.

“Purple?”

Purple freezes.

“…can I touch you?”

_What do they want?_

“Thank you,” Black says quietly, laying their hand on their shoulder, “if you don’t want to, you don’t have to put the suit back on.”

“It’s protocol.”

“There’s no one else here, Purple. It’s okay.”

Purple stares at the floor. No. No, they are still a crew member of the Skeld. They still represent the crew they’ve lost. They will do their duty.

Gentle fingers cup Purple’s chin and lift their head. Black’s helmet is as impassive as ever.

“Do you… _need_ to, Purple?”

Purple swallows. “If you want me to be as inconspicuous as possible,” they manage, “I need to be in a suit.”

Black makes a noise. Their hand drops. “Do you have extra?”

“There’s a spare in my quarters.”

“I see.” Black turns to clear away the rest of the medical supplies. “Let’s have you eat first.”

“But—“

Black turns but Purple’s already cut themselves off. Black tilts their head. 

“What is it?”

Purple shakes their head, instead bending down to retrieve their ID and badge. Black looks at them for a moment before closing the drawer and coming back over.

“Leave the suit,” Black says softly, as they guide Purple out of the med bay, “is there anything you can save from it?”

“I need my helmet.”

Black nods, steering them into the cafeteria. “Get yourself something to eat. I’ll take care of it.”

Purple moves robotically. Take the tray, even though there’s no line. Go around the entire kitchen, even though there’s no one here to make sure you go in the right order. Take some of everything because you don’t know what you’ll like. Scan your ID to register what food you’ve taken, even though no one will keep track anymore. Leave the last chocolate pudding, even though Blue’s not around to eat it anymore.

Blue…

Purple’s hands shake, their food clattering on the tray.

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

They turn and make it to the table, sitting down and opening the first packet. It tastes like cardboard. They chew. Swallow. Take another bite.

Carefully fold the first packet and put it aside. Pick up the fork and cut off a small bit. Eat that too, even though it tastes like styrofoam. Chew. Swallow. Eat until that is empty. Make sure the fork is clean and move onto the next bit of food. This one used to be their favorite. It tastes like ash.

Footsteps approach near the beginning of the ash. Black sits down next to them, setting their helmet carefully next to the tray. Purple keeps eating until the ash fills their mouth and they have to stop. They lay down the fork and push the tray away.

Black glances at it. A quarter of the food remains. “You full?”

Purple nods. They stand up to take care of the tray. They wobble.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Black says, catching their elbow, “sit down, take a minute.”

Purple sits. They put the tray back down.

The ship buzzes.

After a moment, Black taps their arm. “Purple?”

Nothing.

“…it’s a little late for the silent treatment, babe.”

Still nothing.

“Hey,” Black calls, leaning closer, “Purple, look at me.”

Purple looks.

“You can speak, babe, it’s okay. I know you’re scared, but you can still—“

“What am I?”

Black pauses. “What?”

“What am I,” Purple repeats, “on the ship, right now, what am I?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m a hostage.”

“You’re not a _hostage,_ Purple,” Black says, “you’re—“

“A human crewmate held in your custody during a conflict to secure your demands,” Purple says, “and involuntarily controlled by an outside influence.”

Black falls silent.

“That’s the very definition of a hostage,” Purple finishes quietly, looking away. “You’ve said you’re not going to hurt me, or kill me, or lock me in my room. You have shown that you can act according to those parameters.”

They swallow heavily.

“But you have also killed members of my crew. I am being kept alive because of my usefulness in fulfilling your demands. I am still your hostage.”

_Alone on a ship in the cold dark of space, trapped with something that could kill in an instant._

“And I reserve the right to be afraid.”

Black is silent for a moment. Then they turn, resting their back against the table.

“…for what it’s worth,” they say quietly, “you _can_ trust me.”

Purple turns to look at them. “Would you?”

Before Black can respond, the lights flicker.

_Thank god._

This, this is something Purple can do. Purple can work. They know how to do this. No wondering about what has to be done, no, they—they can fix their ship.

“I have tasks,” they say as smoothly as they can, picking up the tray, their helmet, and their badge. They’re actually quite proud of how little their knees shake as they turn their back on Black.

There is a spare suit in their quarters. It doesn’t fit quite right, it’s too new.

Their helmet clicks into place.

Wires. Electrical. Admin. Cafeteria.

They pin their badge on and start walking.

Storage is empty because Storage is always empty. Almost no one stays in Storage for long. There are tasks here that require traveling to other parts of the ship and thus there is no need to remain in Storage.

Electrical is a death trap. Everyone on the ship knows that. There’s no need to stay in Electrical longer than absolutely necessary because it’s a death trap. People die in Electrical all the time and so no one wants to linger.

Purple pulls open the wiring panel and gets to work. This one over here, that one over there. Wires are easy. They just...sometimes take a little longer than normal. Purple likes working in Electrical because it is quiet. There are no alarms in here, no big scary machines, just...just the little things. The little things aren’t scary.

Purple finishes the third wire and walks to the download panel. The download panel is on top of a vent.

_Something out of the corner of their eye moves as they finish the distributors. Black is next to them just as the alarm gets called. Another body. But what was that flicker of movement? Was it the vent?_

Purple clenches their fist tight and walks out of Electrical.

Admin. Admin is where the data has to be uploaded and where the next wiring panel is. Purple starts the upload and pointedly avoids looking at the oxygen controls.

Cafeteria. The last wiring panel.

Purple takes a deep breath and walks in.

The room is empty.

Breathing a sigh of relief, they make their way over to the wiring panel and pop it open. Wires connect and the lights stabilize.

Purple glances around. They have more tasks, but...

...they don’t know where Black is.

Black needs them alive and inconspicuous.

Black has promised not to hurt them.

Black is an Impostor.

Their wristlet beeps and they glance down. Their next task is in Oxygen. Cleaning out the filter takes a long time, just because doing the whole maneuvering thing to get the leaves into the chute is so finicky.

And Purple’s hands have always shaken too much.

Sure enough, as soon as they start, their hands are shaking so much it makes it almost impossible to do this cleanly. They clench their jaw and knuckle down to get this done.

“Come on,” they mutter, “come on, just—just get in the— _thank you._ ”

_Task completed._

Purple breathes out and turns. Weapons next.

The download panel is right on top of a vent.

Well, they can do that later, it’s not like it’s super urgent, and—

Orange’s not here anymore to make sure the asteroids don’t hit the ship.

The chair feels too big. Their hands tremble on the control and it takes way more shots than it would’ve taken Orange. Still Purple tries their best. A few asteroids bumble too close and it makes their heart race every time.

There’s a little message on the Weapons console when they finish.

_Bridge: Good shooting._

Black’s in Navigation.

Okay. That makes sense. That makes sense, Purple can—Purple can stay away from Navigation.

They don’t answer the message and quickly flee back to the engine rooms. Aligning the engines is…fine. They skirt around the area where Orange was and finish it as quickly as possible. The fuel gauge is low. Okay, so back to Storage to refuel. Has the fuel canister always been this heavy?

Every time they pass that spot it gets a little easier.

Reactor next. Since—since Green is gone, they have to make sure it’s not about to meltdown.

They swear they can see Pink at the panel when they go to unlock the manifolds.

_Damn_ their shaky hands.

When they step up to the panel, their hands don’t want to even _touch_ the initiator. They can’t—it feels—what if they mess up and blow the whole ship?

_Green’s hand rests on their shoulder. “Come on, now, kid, don’t be so scared. This old girl’s not gonna fall apart so easy. And there’s failsafe’s built in so you’re not gonna blow her up. Just click the button over there, there you go…”_

The lights begin to blink as Purple starts the reactor.

Electrical next. Power needs to be sent back around the ship now that it’s been enabled properly.

Okay.

They walk up to the distributors and flinch. They can still see Black’s knife glinting off of the shuttering vent.

Distributors. Calibrate those first.

Allocate the power.

The vent doesn’t stop clattering until they stand on it. The entire time the download runs Purple can swear they hear something under them.

_This is so stupid,_ Purple thinks as they start going back around the ship, to the engine, to Security—avoid looking at the cameras—to Comms, to Shields, _I know where Black is. Black is still going to be in Navigation. They have to stay there to chart the course. They’re not going to leave._

_They’re not going to hurt me._

And yet, every time they have to turn their back to the rest of a room, their heart doesn’t stop beating until they can press their back to the wall and reassure themself that no one is here.

Download after download after download. Empty the chutes. Get everything you can done so you can go back to Admin and do all the uploads and the card swipe.

_God_ there are so many vents.

Purple won’t risk walking in the hallways outside Navigation. They go the long way from Shields to Weapons and Oxygen. They creep as quietly as they can back into Oxygen, cursing themselves for not finishing all their tasks in here first.

Stand on top of the vent. Hurry. _Hurry._

_This is so stupid._

Finally, _finally,_ they make it to Admin. They’ve got so much stuff on their tablet they’re not sure it can handle everything at once. Best to do it one at a time.

There’s a vent in admin. In the corner. The oxygen panel is in here.

This is so stupid, they were fine in _Electrical_ of all damn places, at this point they’re used to walking past where all the bodies were found, why—why here?

_Oh, god,_ they have to go to med bay after this.

They keep their back to the panel the whole time. As soon as one upload finishes they start the next. Keep going. Just—just do your job.

Just do your job.

They quickly dash around the ship to the med bay.

Inspect sample. Okay. Might…might as well do the scan too, right?

There’s a vent in the corner. Oh, god this is—this is where White and Cyan were.

Did Black know?

Black probably knew.

The need to hide from Black wars in Purple’s chest with the need to finish their tasks. They shakingly select the anomaly and gulp.

Which direction?

Black can—Black can control the doors and use the vents. If they—there’s no way they’ll make it to Storage in time. And Black could vent in front of them. But running through Weapons is dangerous.

_Black promised they wouldn’t hurt them._

And—and Purple needs to finish their tasks.

At the junction outside of Oxygen, they stop. They can see some of Navigation from here. They can’t see Black, Black must be in the captain’s chair.

_Oh, god._

Purple curses themselves for not knowing how to do this.

“Purple? That you?”

_Oh, god._

“Purple?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, it’s me.”

“…what’re you doing?”

They swallow. “I have tasks in Navigation.”

“Oh. Well, they’re not going to get done from back there.”

Sure enough, Black is in the captain’s chair. There are _two_ vents. One of them is right under the download panel, the other right behind the external comms console.

“What do you need to do?”

Purple’s attention snaps back to Black, who looks over their shoulder.

“Um…download. Finish diverting power. Stabilize steering. And…”

Black tilts their head when Purple trails off. “And?”

“…chart course.”

“You don’t have to worry about that one,” Black says as they turn back around, “I’ve got it.”

Purple swallows. “I-if we don’t log the task properly, it will register as incomplete. Which will alert MIRA.”

Black sits still for a moment.

“They, um—they’ll call to figure out what’s going on.”

Black nods. “Finish the rest of your tasks first, then we’ll figure it out.”

An order. Okay, that makes Purple’s life a little easier.

They still stand on top of the vent to do the download, even as they feel Black’s gaze on them. Each task takes them closer and closer to Black’s console until they need to stabilize the steering.

“...Black?”

Blake looks up at them.

“I—um, I need to stabilize the steering column.”

“You need me to move?”

“…yes, please? I-if you don’t mind?”

Black stands up and moves away.

“Thank you, just, um—just let me—there. All done.”

Purple steps away as Black eases themselves back into the chair. They tap a few things on the console.

“Ah. That’s better. Thank you, Purple.”

“Y-you’re welcome.”

Black nods to the download panel. “You have to finish the upload, yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. Come back?”

Purple nods before they register what they’re going to do. Black turns away and they flee back to admin.

This is just— _really_ stupid, isn’t it? That Purple is so scared?

Because—because Black is an Impostor. Black killed their crew. Black is holding them hostage onboard their ship.

But…but Black hasn’t hurt them. Black has been…

Black hasn’t yelled at them once. Black hasn’t said they’re doing anything wrong. Black has _told_ them when they want Purple to do something and they’ve—they’ve—

Black has _comforted_ Purple. They’ve—they’ve taken _care_ of Purple.

…if Purple lets themselves, they could call Black _kind._

But that’s _equally_ crazy…right?

Purple buries their head in their hands. This is so, _so,_ stupid.

If they—if they could just make a _decision,_ about whether or not to be scared then—then—

And that’s the thing too, right? Because Black has _said_ it’s okay to be scared, and that they’re kind of _expecting_ Purple to be scared, right? But also Black’s told them they don’t _have_ to be scared and—and—they—it—

Purple curls in on themselves. Their breaths echo around and around their helmet. They can’t breathe. It’s so cold here. There are so many ways to die in space. They’re all alone. They don’t know what to do.

They’re so _scared._

And it’s so, so, _stupid._

They don’t know how long they curl up there on the floor, only that when they get up their legs hurt a little more and their vision isn’t quite as clear as it was.

They walk back to Navigation.

Black turns as they walk in and motions for them to sit in another chair. They fold their hands in their lap and wait.

“If we change our course and record it, MIRA might get suspicious and hail us,” Black says quietly, “which means you’d have to talk to them.”

“I understand.”

“No, that’s not—“ Black takes a breath. “Purple, I’m—I’m not…trying to tell you what to do here.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Are _you_ comfortable doing that?”

Purple hesitates a moment too long. Black looks at the control panel.

“What do you normally do,” Purple asks after a moment, “when you…do this?”

“Normally I answer.”

“…then…”

“Because the crewmate is locked in their room.”

“…okay?”

Black tilts their head. “Do you…want me to lock you in your room?”

“If that’s how you answer the hail, then…”

“It won’t be as inconspicuous as having you answer.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

There’s a few moments of silence. Black taps their fingers on the console. If Purple didn’t know any better, they’d say Black looks unsure.

And because their brain is _garbage,_ this happens:

“You’ve done this before, right?”

Black turns to look at them. “Yeah, Purple. I’ve done this more times than you’d care to know.”

They turn to face them.

“Why?”

“Because you…” Purple twists their hands together. “You seem to…not…know…what to do.”

Before Black can respond, the conn beeps.

“Incoming hail from MIRAHQ.”

Purple’s eyes go wide. Their gaze darts to the conn. “I—I didn’t chart the coarse, I didn’t—“

“Incoming hail from MIRAHQ.”

“We have to answer,” Black says, “otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

Purple swallows and answers the hail.

“Identify yourself, Crew Mate,” says the Sentry who pops up on the screen.

“Purple, ID 119144.”

“Our data says you’ve changed your course and rerouted to the Polus outpost.”

“Does it register the ‘Chart Course’ task as completed?”

There’s a moment as they check. “As of right now, no. Was this course entered by mistake?”

Purple swallows. “No, no the current course heading is correct. We—the Skeld is planning to head for Polus.”

“That’s not your assignment, Crew Mate.”

“I know, but…given the circumstances, we felt it best to alter course.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

Under the view of the camera, Purple’s fingers twist together. “Those of us aboard the Skeld.”

The Sentry on the other end pauses. “Where’s your Captain, Crew Mate?”

“They, um…can’t come to the Bridge right now.”

“Why not?”

_Because they’re dead._ Purple steels themselves. “We’re rerouting to Polus because of some significant system failures. Both our reactor and our oxygen have suffered complete and total malfunction. Many of our crew are unavailable because of it.”

Technically not a lie.

“Your reactor _and_ your oxygen?”

“Yes, Sentry. We believe that the power surge caused by the reactor’s malfunction could have caused a chain reaction through the system that affected the oxygen. We’ve done a full system reboot and, um…so far nothing bad has happened since. We’re pretty sure it’s not going to but…” Purple takes a deep breath— “better to be safe than sorry.”

“Are the rest of the crew in quarantine?”

Purple hesitates.

“Crew Mate?”

“I—um, I don’t know how many we have left,” Purple confesses, “the reactor was…really bad.”

The Sentry makes a note. “Any confirmed casualties?”

The briskness of the statement makes Purple flinch. “We—three bodies had to be thrown out of the airlock for, um, contamination issues and they were—I—I don’t know how many of the original crew will survive all the way to Polus.”

The note-taking pauses as the Sentry looks back up at them. “Crew Mate, is there something you’re not telling me?”

_Yes. A great deal._

“I…”

This could be their chance. They could tell the Sentry the truth. The Skeld would never get to Polus.

They could stop Black from getting home.

“…I just… _really_ want a milkshake right now.”

The Sentry tilts their head. “Come again, Crew Mate?”

“I know it sounds stupid,” Purple says in a rush, “but I—whenever something went wrong when I was—well, when I was home, my…”

They take a deep breath and roll their shoulders back.

“‘We’re all tiny insignificant specks in an indifferent universe,” they say softly, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t get ice cream.’ That’s what my…my…someone I used to be very close to used to say to me. And so I guess I’m…a little homesick, that’s all.”

Purple smiles a little.

“And you _honestly_ can’t tell me that the ice cream they have up here can compare to a proper milkshake. Right? With the tall glass and the whip cream and…you know what I’m talking about, right?”

The Sentry pauses. Then they close their notes and look back at Purple.

“You’re free to land on the Polus Outpost,” they say after a moment, “I’ll send your credentials out so they know where to look for you. You’ll be taken care of there.”

“Thank you, Sentry.”

“You and your crew will have to quarantine until you’re deemed safe, so I can’t say when you’ll be able to report in, but…” The Sentry’s shoulders relax a little. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get yourself a milkshake before too long, Crew Mate.”

Purple smiles. “A good one?”

“A good one. MIRA out.”

The hail ends.

All the levity that had been there for a second dissipates instantly. Purple grows still in the chair. Did they do it right? Is Black going to be angry? They—they got clearance to land on Polus and—and the okay to not be around other people for awhile.

A wave of exhaustion washes over them and they slump against the conn. Being so scared is so _tiring._

Their wristlet beeps. The engines need to be realigned again. They drag themselves upright and make to get out of the chair.

“Purple,” Black calls quietly.

“Y-yeah?”

Black tilts their head as Purple stands. They seem to be…mulling something over.

“I know you’re still scared,” they say after a moment, “and I won’t tell you not to be or that you should stop. But…when I held you, did it help?”

“Wh-what?”

“In Electrical,” Black continues, their voice that same soft cadence that makes some part of Purple want to melt, “and in med bay. Did that…help?”

“…yes.”

“Then whenever it gets bad,” they murmur, “and you…need something, you can come to me. I promise I’ll help.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Purple’s wristlet beeps. Black nods toward it.

“You’d better go. Get whatever that is looked at. And good job, Purple.”

Purple leaves Navigation in a daze. They make it to the hallway outside Electrical before the anger cuts through.

What is _wrong_ with them?

Not—okay.

They _don’t_ want to stop Black from getting home. That’s cruel, especially after what humans have done to Black’s people.

They _don’t_ want Black caught, not…not really. Black has killed people, yes, but…they’re at war.

They _don’t_ want MIRAHQ to find out that Black’s an Impostor. They would hurt Black.

Purple just wishes their own _brain_ would make up its mind about whether or not it’s terrified into paralysis around Black or whether Black is the only thing keeping them halfway sane.

Because they don’t—Black isn’t _wrong_ about how awful humans are and what they’ve been doing is completely barbaric and horrible and Purple just wants to make them _stop_ but—but—but Black’s also killed _god_ knows how many people _including_ this crew and god Purple is _still so scared_ and they don’t know for sure whether this is just Black getting them to do what they want—

Purple’s lips curl into a snarl and they slam themselves against the wall. They cradle their head in their hands.

Is—are they really so _desperate_ that they’ll roll over for the first person who treats them kindly?

…

Purple slams their head miserably into the wall behind them.

Now they have to go realign the engines with a splitting headache. Great.

They make it a few days. A few days of their heart racing every time they turn their back on an empty room, their hands shaking so bad they have to fix the same wires over and over, glancing around the corner and avoiding Navigation like the plague. A few days of only ever allowing themselves to ask to hold Black’s hand for just a moment before thanking them politely and fleeing back to the safety of their quarters.

A few days of thinking about how they’re _alone_ on the Skeld with an _Impostor_ and they don’t know what to _do._

And what’s so awful about it is that Black is being so _kind._ They’re not—if Black was just…just like what Purple had always been _told_ Impostors were. If it were…

If it were Cyan. Or…or White.

If Black were treating them like the hostage they are. Locking them in their room. Strict instructions to _only_ do the tasks they had to. Shadowing them. _Something._

But no. Black is basically letting them have free run of the ship. Black _told_ them about what the Impostors were doing and…and—

And Purple has no idea when Black’s going to realize that Purple is just some weak stupid little human that isn’t worth keeping around.

Purple’s grip on the fuel canister wavers and they spill the fuel. All over the floor. And their suit. Oh, oh no, there’s—there’s only a limited amount, they—they’re not going to make it, they've ruined everything, they’ve—they’ve—

Black’s going to be _mad._ Th-that Purple’s still here.

They—they said they needed Purple in case they got hailed but they _already_ got hailed and that Purple needed to use their credentials to land on Polus but Purple already _got_ them clearance to land on Polus.

…they don’t need Purple anymore.

Purple’s going to die out here, alone, in the cold of space.

Oh, _god—_

Purple clutches their helmet and gasps. They can’t breathe. They can’t—it’s so _cold—_

“Purple?”

“B-Black?”

“Hey, hey,” Black soothes, rushing forward and scooping Purple’s shaking form away from the pool of fuel on the ground. They set the canister back upright and take a seat against the wall, cradling Purple in their lap. “Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, it’s just a little fuel.”

“I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—sorry—“

“Shh-shh-shh, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay.” Black hugs them tightly. “You’re okay, you just sit here and breathe, for me?”

“I—I—“

“Don’t try and talk right now, babe,” comes the gentle chide, Black’s hand coming up to stroke the back of their helmet, “just get it out first.”

The fear expands until it swallows Purple whole and collapses in on itself, sending Purple into a shaking mess of terrified cries. They don’t want to die. They don’t want Black to be mad. They don’t want to get hurt. They don’t want to do something wrong.

They just want to be _safe._

Black shushes them tenderly as they cry, rocking them back and forth, not caring one bit that their suit is getting absolutely _soaked_ with fuel. And that just makes Purple sob _harder,_ because Black is—this isn’t—

Purple doesn’t know what to _do._

Is—is Black the scary Impostor who murdered Purple’s crew and is currently holding them hostage?

Or is Black the person who’s cuddling them on the floor of Storage and the first person to be kind to them in god knows how long?

…or both?

Purple buries their head in Black’s chest and falls apart in truly _spectacular_ fashion.

…to Black’s credit, they certainly do very well with having Purple shatter in their lap. They just carefully adjust their grip and pull Purple closer, rubbing soothing circles into their back and hushing them with the same soft, patient voice.

“I know, baby…shh…it’s gonna be okay, baby, I promise…I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere… _shh,_ baby…”

Black is the first thing they see when they open their eyes.

“B-Black?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here.”

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

“For what, baby,” they ask softly, “what’re you sorry for?”

“I—I spilled the fuel.”

“That’s okay. We’re already not going as far as the orbiter, which means we don’t need that much fuel, _and_ we had extra stored for that trip.” Black runs their fingers around the curve of Purple’s helmet. “No harm done.”

Oh. Right.

“That’s not all, though,” they prompt gently, “is it?”

“I—“

The words burn cold in Purple’s throat.

“…I don’t know what you _want,_ ” they manage eventually, their voice cracking.

“What I want?”

  
“You—you’re an Impostor.” Purple gulps. “And—and you killed my crew and—and you need me to—to get back h-home and to m-make sure people aren’t—people aren’t suspicious—sups—suspicious of us arriving at—at Polus.”

Black’s hand keeps rubbing circles up and down their back.

“B-but you’ve also been really _nice_ to—to me and I—I don’t know what you w-want and I don’t know what I’m doing and you—when you realize that you’re gonna—gonna be mad and I—I don’t know what you _want._ ”

There’s silence for a moment as Purple’s breathing gets heavy again.

“You’re afraid because you don’t know what to expect from me,” Black says eventually, “because I’m not…I’m not _behaving_ how you expected.”

Purple nods shakily. Black’s chest expands and deflates.

“…you’re covered in fuel, baby,” Black murmurs after a while, “can we get you cleaned up?”

They hesitate.

“I will answer your question,” comes Black’s voice, “I just…need a moment to think about how to say it. You asked, baby, I’ll tell you. But I don’t think us sitting here soaking in oil is the best way to spend that time.”

“Okay…okay.”

“Yeah?” Black wraps their arms around Purple again. “You think you can walk?”

Purple nods.

“Ready? Here we go…”

Purple feels their face grow warm as they see just how _much_ fuel they’ve managed to get all over them. They hurry to their quarters only to realize that the oil on their gloves means they can’t take it off by themselves.

Judging by the way Black’s demeanor changes, they’ve realized that too.

“Purple—“

“I know.”

“I’m not going to do it if you don’t want me to,” Black says firmly.

“…how else am I gonna get out of this suit?”

“We’ll figure something out. But if you don’t want me to help, then I won’t.”

Purple hugs their arms around their waist, holding on despite the slick of the fuel.

“…Black?”

“Yes?”

“Will you…help me?”

Black nods. They step closer, their hands raised. “If at any point you want me to stop, Purple, you say so and I stop dead.”

“O-okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Alright.” They raise their hands to the fastenings. “I’m gonna start here, okay?”

Black’s hands are swift and sure as they start to carefully undo the suit. Their fingers move easily around the oil, undoing and unlatching the pieces and constantly speaking quietly so that Purple is never caught off-guard.

It’s incredibly considerate and Purple is _about three seconds away from bursting into tears again._

“Can I take your helmet off,” Black asks softly, “or do you think you can do it from here?”

“I—I can do it.”

“Alright.” Black steps away. “I’m going to stand over there with my back turned, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Black turns away and folds their hands respectfully behind their back.

Purple struggles out of the suit. Only when they look at it piled on the floor of the wash chambers do they realize that this is pretty much their last _good_ spare suit and it needs to get washed.

Which means…

They’re going to have to not wear it for a bit.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I um…this is just my last suit. And I, um, I need to wash it.”

Black’s head turns, not towards them, but to the rest of their quarters. “Is there another suit you could wear?”

“Not mine. And I…”

Black simply nods when Purple can’t get the words ‘I don’t want to wear my dead crew mate’s suit’ out.

“I can stay over here with my back turned,” they offer.

And yeah, that’s what…that’s probably what they should do. But…Purple’s not very good at reading Black at the _best_ of times and they sure as hell won’t be able to do it while their back is turned.

“Just…for a bit longer.”

“No rush, babe.”

They toss their suit in the washer and quickly pull on their fatigues. The worn clothes feel a little less cold than the rest of the room. They sit down on the floor near their bunk and pull their knees up to their chest. Better to look like a little of a threat as possible. At the last minute, they reach up and grab a pillow to cradle to their chest.

“Okay. You can turn around now.”

Black turns slowly, giving them enough time to change their mind before looking to where they expect Purple to be. They glance around a little before finding Purple’s huddled form on the floor.

“…are you sure, baby?”

Purple shrugs. “If you—there’s—this isn’t really any less _effective_ than the suit.”

“Effective?”

Purple clutches the pillow. “…if you were gonna hurt me, you’d’ve done it just as easily with the suit _on._ ”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They glance up, only to see that Black is still covered in fuel.

“Oh, um, do you need help cleaning off too?”

“No, no,” Black waves, looking down, “I can…just do this.”

  
Purple’s eyes widen as the fuel just… _sinks_ into Black’s suit. In a few seconds, they look as good as new.

“Wh-wha—“

“We can metabolize a lot of stuff,” Black says by way of explanation, “and it doesn’t hurt us.”

“Wait, wait, you can—you can do that _through_ your suit?”

Black huffs a little and holds their hands out. “I’m not…I’m not really _wearing_ a suit, Purple.”

_“What?”_

“Shapeshifters,” they murmur, “remember? We can…look like anything we like.”

“…so…”

“So we can look like a human in a suit.”

“…what do you really look like?”

Black tilts their head. “Are you sure you wanna know?”

“If—“ Purple swallows— “if you’re comfortable showing me.”

There’s a pause.

“And I get it if you aren’t,” they say in a rush, “I know humans are awful and you have absolutely no reason to trust me and that’s a super vulnerable thing to do and I’m sorry I asked I just get curious about things you don’t have to do that I’m sorry for asking—“

“Easy,” Black hushes, “it’s okay. I’m not mad at you for asking.”

“…oh.”

“No, baby, I’m not. I just…” Black chuckles ruefully. “I just don’t want to scare you anymore.”

Oh.

“In the…nicest way possible?” Purple smiles a little. “Too late?”

“Fair enough.” Black takes a deep breath. “You wanna close your eyes, or…?”

“N-no, unless you want me to.”

“You can keep them open.”

There’s a pause as Black rolls their head around slowly, a low, strange sloshing noise replacing the expected _crack._

Then they start to shift.

Purple’s eyes widen as Black’s humanoid form disappears into a mass of roiling tentacles, not quite black in color, not quite…any other color, churning and shifting and never quite growing still. From the mass, there emerge some other features they can’t name. Black probably can’t _fully_ shift because the atmosphere in here is meant for humans and they don’t want to…you know, instantly die, but…

Purple’s train of thought is interrupted by another low slosh and a truly _gigantic_ maw opens up in front of them.

Teeth. Rows and rows of sharp teeth. The maw stretches impossibly wide and waving about like a snake is a long, barbed tongue.

The sloshing sound turns into a rumble as the whole thing _vibrates,_ the floor shaking. The maw closes a small bit as the tentacles start to settle. Purple’s quarters are filled with the quiet slithering and sloshing as the Impostor stands before them.

Purple gulps.

They take a deep breath.

The pillow is set gently on the ground as they stand up.

They fold their hands behind their back and smile politely.

“Hello. I am known as Purple, ID 119144. I am human, currently assigned to the Skeld, human spacecraft.” They bow their head. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The Impostor twitches. Then a more guttural rumbling comes from the maw. Probably…a greeting? Either way, Purple stands at attention until it finishes.

“On behalf of humanity,” they say softly, “I apologize for the crimes committed against your planet and your people. If there is anything I can do in an attempt to atone for the past mistakes of my species, please, tell me.”

The Impostor rumbles again, the tentacles roiling until they recede, back into Black’s familiar suit as Black stands.

“Only you,” they chuckle, “only _you_ would do that.”

“Do…what?”

“Try and apologize for the actions of your entire species while terrified out of your mind.”

“Why…wouldn’t…I?”

Black huffs. “Because you are terrified,” they say, looking up, “you are alone, you are scared, you are _helpless,_ and still you are kinder than them.”

“…do you think that because I am afraid I shouldn’t be kind?”

“What reason do you have to be kind to something that scares you?”

Oh. Well, that’s an easy one. Purple lets their mouth tug up into a smile.

“Do you honestly think I care so little that scaring me would make a difference?”

There’s a pause. A _long_ pause.

“I think that up until recently,” Black says finally, “It thought I understood humans very well, and now…”

They sigh.

“Now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Purple says wryly, “ _I_ don’t understand humans. We don’t make a lot of sense.”

It surprises a laugh out of Black, so that’s something.

“For starters, the way we’re built is _ridiculous,”_ Purple continues, gesturing to themselves, “like, sure, there’s _some_ good stuff in here but for the most part we evolved in a really structurally unsound way and there’s _so_ many things that can go wrong with us.”

Well, Black’s still laughing, so…

“Also the fact that I have to _exist_ in a corporeal form and be perceived by other people and yet I don’t have _any_ sort of awareness of where my body is?” Purple shakes their head. “ _Really_ inconvenient.”

“Wait, you—you _what?_ ”

“Surely you’ve noticed how clumsy I am.”

“…you do walk into things more often than most other humans.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know why my body _is_ most of the time. It sucks.”

“This body is more than a little strange,” Black muses, looking down at their hands and turning them over, “and _I_ have the optimized version.”

“Well, you’re just…the suit. And a helmet.”

The room goes quiet as Black looks back up at them. Purple gulps. Black tilts their head.

“Why do you look so scared,” Black asks softly, “every time I look at you, you…”

“…I…I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Purple admits sheepishly, “I—you know humans rely a lot on facial expression to…accurately…I…I don’t know—I can’t read you.”

“And that’s…stressful?”

Purple sighs, coming out of their diplomatic stance and sinking slowly back to the floor, curling their arms around their knees.

“I—I struggle a lot with what people think of me,” they mumble to their knees, “I’m—I don’t do very well when I don’t know what’s expected of me, or what I’m supposed to do.”

They squeeze their eyes tight.

“So this is…kind of my, um, worst-case scenario.”

“Worst-case scenario?”

“I—um, I really _really_ hate when people get mad at me,” they manage, “and, um, of doing something wrong and people being upset. And so—so I try and do my best to make sure I know what the right thing to do is and…I don’t know what that is anymore.”

_I don’t know what to do._

“Because you—you’re—I know how to handle being a—a h-hostage,” they stammer, “and I—well, theoretically I know how to behave around someone who is…kind. B-but when you’re _both,_ I…I…”

They bury their face in their hands.

“I don’t know. A-and if I can’t tell what you’re thinking or anything until you s-say something, then I—I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong.”

There’s silence. Then a few rustling noises as Purple shifts and clutches their legs again, still breathing a little heavy.

“…Purple?”

Is it just them or does Black’s voice sound…different?

“Yes?”

“Look at me.” Purple hesitates. “Look at me, baby.”

Purple’s gaze slowly raises from their knees to see—

Their mouth opens in surprise.

Where Black was standing, a—a _human_ crouches on the floor, their arms propped up on their raised knee. They have short, black hair, and they’re wearing a version of Purple’s fatigues. Their head tilts to the side and they smile.

“Hey, there.”

“…B-Black?”

“Yeah, babe.” They gesture to themselves. “Haven’t had to dust this off for a while, but…”

They smirk at Purple’s wide-eyed expression.

“Still got it?”

“Y-yeah, you—um, yeah, that’s—you look—mhmm.”

Black’s smirk softens as they look at Purple. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”

“You sure?” They nod towards Purple’s face. “Because your eyes are _giant._ ”

“All the better to see you with.”

Black’s eyebrows go _all_ the way up. “Why, Purple,” they chuckle, “how…flattering.”

“I—wait, no, that’s—“ Purple stammers—“it’s from a children’s story. I said—that’s a quote.”

“A story?”

“Yeah, um, it’s called ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ At least the version _I_ know is called that.”

“What’s it about?”

“I, um—“ Purple scrambles for their bunk. Their book of children’s stories must be around here somewhere—there! They grab the book and flip through it. “It’s in here somewhere, hold on.”

When they glance back up, Black stares at them with an…interesting expression.

“…what?”

“You brought a book of children’s stories with you?”

“I, um,” Purple stammers, their hands growing sweaty on the pages, “I like them. They…they help me.”

Black looks almost fond. They ease themselves down to a seated position. “So what’s this one?”

“Um…” Purple turns the pages until they find it. “Okay. Here it is.”

They take a deep breath.

“ _‘There was once a sweet little maid, much beloved by everybody, but most of all by her grandmother, who never knew how to make enough of her. Once she sent her a little riding hood of red velvet, and as it was very becoming to her, and she never wore anything else, people called her Little Red Riding Hood.’_ ”

“I assume she wore…clothes, underneath,” Black says hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Purple says quickly, “she wore clothes, I think it just means she also always wore the hood.”

“Ah.”

“ _‘One day her mother said to her, ‘Come, Little Red Riding Hood, here are some cakes and a flask of wine for you to take to grandmother; she is weak and ill, and they will do her good. Make haste and start before it grows hot, and walk properly and nicely, and don’t run, or you might fall and break the flask of wine, and there would be none left for grandmother. And when you go into her room, don’t forget to say good morning, instead of staring about you.’_

_‘I will be sure to take care,’ said Little Red Riding Hood to her mother, and gave her hand upon it. Now the grandmother lived away in the wood, half an hour’s walk from the village; and when Little Red Riding Hood had reached the wood, she began to walk through the trees.’”_

Purple carefully turns the page and is confronted with an illustration of a small girl in a large red hood on one side. On the other is the hulking image of a _giant_ wolf.

“ _‘In the woods, along the path, she met the wolf; but as she did not know what a bad sort of animal he was, she did not feel frightened. ‘Good day, Little Red Riding Hood,’ said he—‘_ “

“The wolf can _talk?_ ”

“It’s a fairy tale, animals can do all sorts of things.”

“Like talk?”

“Like talk.” Purple looks back at the page. “ _‘Thank you kindly, wolf,’ answered she._

_‘Where are you going so early, Little Red Riding Hood?’ said the wolf._

_‘To my grandmother’s,’ said Little Red Riding Hood._

_‘What are you carrying under your apron?’ said the wolf._

_‘Cakes and wine; we baked yesterday, and my grandmother is very weak and ill, so they will do her good, and strengthen her,’ said Little Red Riding Hood._

_‘Where does your grandmother live, Little Red Riding Hood?’_

_‘A quarter of an hour’s walk from here; her house stands beneath the three oak trees, and you may know it by the hazel bushes,’ said Little Red Riding Hood.’”_

Purple turns the page.

“‘ _The wolf thought to himself, ‘That tender young thing would be a delicious morsel, and would taste better than the old one; I must manage somehow to get both of them.’ Then he walked by Little Red Riding Hood a little while, and said, ‘Little Red Riding Hood, just look at the pretty flowers that are growing all round you, and I don’t think you are listening to the song of the birds; you are posting along just as if you were going to school, and it is so delightful out here in the wood.’”_

“Wait, why doesn’t the wolf just eat her now?”

Purple shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Black falls quiet. Purple glances up to see them staring at a corner of the room, frowning.

“Do you…want me to stop?”

“No, no,” Black murmurs, “keep going.”

“ _‘Little Red Riding Hood glanced round her, and when she saw the sunbeams darting here and there through the trees, and lovely flowers everywhere, she thought to herself, “If I were to take a fresh bouquet to my grandmother she would be very pleased, and it is so early in the day that I shall reach her in plenty of time”; and so she ran about in the wood, looking for flowers. And as she picked one she saw a still prettier one a little farther off, and so she went farther and farther into the wood._

“ _‘But the wolf went straight to the grandmother’s house and knocked at the door. ‘Who is there?’ cried the grandmother._

_‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ he answered, ‘and I have brought you some cake and wine. Please open the door.’_

_‘Lift the latch,’ cried the grandmother; ‘I am too feeble to get up.’_

_“‘So the wolf lifted the latch, and the door flew open, and he fell on the grandmother and ate her up without saying one word.’”_

“This is a bit…much for a children’s story, isn’t it?”

“Well, some fairy tales get changed over time to become…nicer.”

“Mm.”

“’ _Then he drew on her clothes—_ ‘”

“The wolf _what?_ ”

“‘ _Then he drew on her clothes,’_ ” Purple continues, stifling a laugh, “ _’put on her cap, lay down in her bed, and drew the curtains. Little Red Riding Hood was all this time running about among the flowers, and when she had gathered as many as she could hold, she remembered her grandmother, and set off to go to her. She was surprised to find the door standing open, and when she came inside she felt very strange, and thought to herself, ‘Oh dear, how uncomfortable I feel, and I was so glad this morning to go to my grandmother!’ And when she said, ‘Good morning,’ there was no answer.’”_

“So…the wolf is just…in the grandmother’s bed? With her clothes on?”

“Yes.”

“…doesn’t Little Red Riding Hood recognize that this isn’t her grandmother?”

In response, Purple turns the page. “ _‘Then she went up to the bed and drew back the curtains; there lay the grandmother with her cap pulled over her eyes, so that she looked very odd._

_‘O grandmother, what large ears you have!’_

_‘All the better to hear you with.’_

_‘O grandmother, what great eyes you have!’_

_‘All the better to see you with.’_

_‘O grandmother, what large hands you have!’_

_‘All the better to hold you with.’_

_‘But, grandmother, what a large mouth you have!’_

_‘All the better to eat you with!’ And no sooner had the wolf said it than he made one bound from the bed, and swallowed up poor Little Red Riding Hood.’”_

The room is silent as Purple turns the page.

_“‘Then the wolf, having satisfied his hunger, lay down again in the bed, went to sleep, and began to snore loudly. The huntsman heard him as he was passing by the house, and thought, ‘How the old woman snores- I had better see if there is anything the matter with her.’ Then he went into the room, and walked up to the bed, and saw the wolf lying there. ‘At last I find you, you old wolf!” said he; “I have been looking for you a long time.’ And he made up his mind that the wolf had swallowed the grandmother whole, and that she might yet be saved.”_

“He just…knows that?”

“Somehow. _‘So he did not fire, but took a pair of shears and began to slit up the wolf's body. When he made a few snips Little Red Riding Hood appeared, and after a few more snips she jumped out and cried, ‘Oh dear, how frightened I have been!’ And then out came the old grandmother, still living and breathing. But Little Red Riding Hood went and quickly fetched some large stones, with which she filled the wolf’s body, so that when he waked up, and was going to rush away, the stones were so heavy that he sank down and fell dead.”_

“So they _do_ kill the wolf.”

“Yes. _‘They were all three very pleased. The huntsman took off the wolf’s skin, and carried it home. The grandmother ate the cakes, and drank the wine, and held up her head again, and Little Red Riding Hood said to herself that she would never more stray about in the wood alone, but would mind what her mother told her.’”_

Purple closes the book and sets it back on the bed. “That’s just one version though. In some, the wolf just…hides them in the closet and doesn’t eat them, in some versions the huntsman comes in before the wolf can hurt the grandmother, in some they don’t get saved at all.”

Black nods slowly. “But the wolf always dies?”

“…the wolf always dies.”

“Hmm.” Black looks down at their hands, turning them over in their lap. When they look back up at Purple, their face is as unreadable as their helmet was. “Well, I think if _you_ were Little Red Riding Hood, the story would end differently.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Black says softly, “I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple: I am scared and things are upsetting and I don't know what to do
> 
> Black: What would the crew do if they were here?
> 
> Purple: idk probably tell me to stop crying and suck it up, any way I'm gonna apologize for everything humanity's ever done and would you like a story?
> 
> Black: *scribbling down adoption papers* so IM YOUR CREW NOW
> 
> Edit: SOMEONE DREW THIS AND I'M GONNA FUCKING DIE: https://nightseeye.tumblr.com/post/642794944097091584/man-i-havent-drawn-among-us-stuff-in-a-while-but
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH


	5. Black: The Skeld, Medbay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black doesn't know what to do. 
> 
> Maybe that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black: purple is babey purple is gonna be fine i'm gonna protect them
> 
> Polus: *getting closer*
> 
> Black: 
> 
> Purple: *is still very much not okay*
> 
> Black: 
> 
> Black: imPROV TIME

Black doesn’t know what to do.

The thought of wearing their _human_ face again used to make them snarl, cold in the thought of sinking further and further into a disguise. Before, _long_ before, it used to make them excited, thrilling at the prospect of deceiving some hapless human into letting them in.

The job has long since lost its allure.

But now, flexing muscles that have long since grown stiff, it feels…warm. Not _right,_ no, but…warm.

At first, it was just to get the muscles for the voice. The soft comfort of hearing another human on board the Skeld, someone Purple could take comfort from shamelessly, not hold themselves at a distance out of fear or habit. And it seemed to work, even if _just_ for a moment. Purple had relaxed a little more. _Just_ a little more.

Even if the Skeld still reeked of Purple’s fear, it helped for that one moment.

Then the hail from MIRAHQ and Purple had been so _brave, s_ ecuring both the clearance for the course change and the landing on Polus. And talking about _milkshakes,_ of all things, when the Sentry grew suspicious that Purple was leaving things out. Their fear had been _rolling_ off of them in waves and yet their voice hadn’t wavered once.

And what were they supposed to do? This little human, so scared, so _small,_ and yet being so brave and polite and so _Purple…_

_Take it slow,_ Black had muttered to themselves whenever Purple would take them up on their offer of help, _don’t push, don’t push._

They’re not quite sure what they expected, but it wasn’t this. Maybe shy approaches and little tugs on their sleeve, maybe restless wandering about the ship until they drifted close enough to Black to ask, maybe simply climbing right into their arms.

They were never very hopeful about that last one.

But no. Purple would _ask,_ with the tone that stated if Black didn’t want to, or if they weren’t feeling up to it, they could decline Purple’s request and it would be perfectly alright.

_Yeah, right._

“Black?”

“Yes, Purple?”

“May I hold your hand for a moment, please?”

“…of course, baby.”

And Purple’s hand, firm and gentle, resting in their palm for a few moments. Then—

“Thank you.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, that’s all. Thank you for your time.”

And Purple would be gone.

Purple asked, Black gave, and Purple held themselves to an impossibly high standard.

Black had ached.

Then Purple had stumbled with the fuel.

The clatter had been audible from Navigation and in an instant Black was up, thinking engine room, Electrical, Storage, Purple had been hurt.

But no, they’d happened upon a shaking and sobbing Purple with oil soaking through their suit. It hadn’t been a second thought to scoop them up and curl around them. The poor thing had been _terrified_ of making Black angry, of messing up, of being _wrong,_ and Black’s maw had snarled.

_I won’t ever be angry with you, baby. Not like that._

Purple had shattered, dissolving into desperate sobs and frantic clutches at Black’s suit, trying to claw their way further into Black’s lap, curling up tight as a fist. Black had let them, thrilling silently at how little Purple had been concerned about _politeness,_ asking wordlessly for the comfort they needed.

Then, of course, they’d told them why they were so afraid.

And it might’ve been an easy question to answer if _Black_ knew the answer.

Well, they _knew_ the answer. But saying the answer and having Purple believe it were two entirely different problems.

But Purple had asked, and so, Black would give them their answer. And they were going to, they promise.

They just…well.

Purple surprised them again.

First by asking to _see_ their true body, as though that hadn’t been why they were so afraid of them, to begin with, and then by taking that opportunity to act as a _diplomat,_ throwing themselves at Black’s mercy for the crimes that humanity had committed.

_Only Purple._

After that, well, it was easy to decide that if _Purple_ was human, well…maybe shrugging on the whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

And their little _face,_ their wide eyes, they’d been so surprised they’d forgotten for a moment to be scared. At least until they’d said some _lovely_ little comment about their eyes being big so it would be easier to see Black, which…

Well.

Little Purple, hmm?

Of course, Purple hadn’t _meant_ it that way, they’d been quoting it from some story. A story that they had in their book of stories because of course, they brought a book of stories with them into space.

A story about a wolf and a little human.

The irony is not lost on Black.

“Is that your favorite,” they’d asked quietly after Purple had finished, “of the stories?”

“Hmm? No, not really. I don’t like—“ Purple had cut themselves off. “No, it’s not my favorite.”

“You’re allowed to have opinions,” Black had remarked, “and you’re allowed to tell me, a person who has never heard _any_ of these, what they are.”

“I just—these have existed for so long that they’ve been retold so many times that they’re losing some of their charm.”

“How so?”

“Well, every so often you’ll get someone who _thinks_ they’re reimagining the story in a new and innovative way, but really they’re just hiding which one they’re using and once you figure it out, it’s just kinda boring.”

“Hmm.” Black tilts their head. “So how would _you_ do it?”

“What?”

“If you were going to rewrite the story, how would you do it?”

Purple had thought for a moment. “Well, I don’t think I’d start it in the same place.”

“Go on.”

“‘Cause it starts with ‘ _once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a house with her mother on the edge of the woods,_ ’ or something like that.” Purple waves their hand. “No wonder, no questions, it’s just a statement.”

“So how would you start it?”

Purple had gone quiet for a moment, drumming their fingers on the cover of the book. Then they looked up.

“… _it was dark inside the wolf._ ”

…damn, Purple. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s better.”

Purple had smiled.

Then Purple’s suit had been cleaned and just like that, they’d been up on their feet and pulling it on.

And being the one out of the suit instead of Purple had been…interesting.

Black is still taller than Purple, considerably, but not being able to see their face _and_ seeing the human face reflected in the helmet had given the strange illusion of a spotlight.

They didn’t like it.

Purple had gone to finish refueling the engines. Black had gone back to Navigation, reforming the suit as they left. They’d sat down to keep the Skeld on course only to realize that they’d never gotten the words to answer Purple’s question.

So.

They’re going to arrive at Polus. They’re going to land. They’re going to be put through quarantine protocol, during which the other Impostors on Polus will take them back home. The ‘accident’ for the last crew member will be arranged and Black’s mission will be completed.

Purple is going to die.

And the _thought_ of that makes Black’s maw open, growling into the empty air in the bridge.

Along with the immediate understanding that if they _told_ Purple that, the fear still permeating the walls of the Skeld would recede.

Black’s grip on the console tightens, the metal denting under their grip. Beneath the helmet, their mouth turns up in another snarl.

Purple is afraid because they don’t know what to expect. They are so utterly terrified of being _wrong_ that it eclipses the other things like, oh, how about _keeping their life._

If Purple were a hostage, kept alive only for their usefulness for the mission, to be killed as soon as the mission was accomplished, they’d be calmer.

If Purple—well, if _Black_ were a crewmate, they’d be calmer.

But no. Because Black had been _kind,_ or _sweet,_ or just a _decent compassionate fucking person,_ Purple is so, _so_ scared.

A low growl fills the bridge.

_Who made you so afraid of accepting kindness? Point them out to me._

If Purple knew what to expect, perhaps, that might be enough. If they knew what Black was going to do.

Well. Isn’t that the root of the problem.

Black doesn’t know what to do.

And they don’t, not until they smell something _else._

The first hint they get is that Purple’s fear is less strong. They’d been growing better at hiding it, certainly. They weren’t flinching every time they saw Black. Their voice never wavers from that horrible, _horrible_ forced politeness, but they do allow some of their humor to slip into their sentences. And, well…they’d asked for a little more than just a hand to hold.

Black steps out of Navigation and pauses. They glance around. It’s not an extreme difference, but it is noticeable.

“Purple?”

No response.

“Purple, where are you?”

“Hang on!”

A clattering of footsteps later and Purple’s head pops around the corner.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Black looks them over. No injuries. No nothing. Just…a little less afraid. “Didn’t know where you were.”

“I was in Storage. The trash needs to be taken out.”

“Okay. Uh…” They wave their hand a little awkwardly. “Carry on.”

And Purple vanishes.

The second hint is that Purple starts to go to bed earlier and earlier. Admittedly, as they get closer to Polus, most humans would need to readjust their sleeping cycles in order to be prepared to dock planet-side. But it’s _past_ that point now, and still they’re vanishing into their quarters with hours to spare.

“Hey, hey,” Black says gently as Purple bids them goodnight, “are you—you know you probably don’t need to do _as_ many of the tasks as you are, yeah?”

“The ship needs to be maintained. I have to do tasks.”

“But you don’t have to try and do _all_ of them, that’s—the crew is made up of a lot of people for a reason.”

Purple tilts their head. “We still went into a full reactor meltdown, the oxygen needs to—“

“Babe,” Black interrupts, “that was us.”

“…what?”

“We sabotaged your systems.”

Purple just…slumps.

“…I see.”

“Your ship isn’t actually as broken as it might seem,” Black continues, trying to buoy their spirits a little, “so there’s no need to overwork yourself.”

“Black?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can you just…tell me what you want?”

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself,” Black says after a moment, “and since you’re going to sleep so early—“

“It’s not because I’m overworking myself,” Purple says, “I just…well, now that Pink’s not using all the hot water…”

Ah.

Black chuckles. “I see. Well, enjoy. I shouldn’t’ve assumed.”

“Goodnight, Black.”

“Goodnight, Purple.”

The third hint is the way Purple starts to guard their legs.

It’s not as obvious as the others—not that the first one would be obvious to anyone who _wasn’t_ an Impostor—but after a few times, it starts to become more than an exception.

They’re very careful about how they stand up, turn around corners—they do have a remarkable ability to just…crash into walls—and handle the fuel canisters. A few times when they haven’t there’s been a momentary hitch in their breath. Again, not _extremely_ noticeable, but it’s there.

“Bruise?”

Purple rubs their leg a little sheepishly. “The corners of these consoles are sharp, okay? I have nerve endings under here that don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Black says softly, “I won’t bite.”

They pause, tilting their head a small bit.

“…I know.”

Black’s going to admit; they hadn’t put it together. Not by the time they _actually_ figured it out.

They must be getting slow.

Purple is standing next to them in Navigation. They’ve just finished calibrating the steering. Black had asked why they’d need to do that. After all, you shouldn’t... _need_ to do that, right?

“The Skeld is an older model,” Purple explains, “and she’s not quite as good as adjusting to gravitational shifts for inter-body travel. When she’s doing long hauls through mostly vacuum, it’s not as necessary, but because she’s not built for weaving and taking as much g-force, we have to double-check.”

“...that explains a few things.”

“Perhaps why it was so easy to sabotage?”

Black glances over. “Perhaps.”

Then they smell it.

It’s subtle, riding the current of fear still radiating out of Purple, almost imperceptible. If Black hadn’t been around Purple for so long, they might’ve just passed it off as part of the fear.

Black pauses. They scent the air again.

There _._

They take a deep, slow breath, trying to make sure they’re not mistaken.

Their maw begins to water.

_Blood_.

“Purple,” they begin quietly, “Purple, I’m going to ask you a question.”

“Yes?”

“...will you let me help you?”

“With what?”

Black lifts their hand, waiting for permission to touch them. When Purple nods, they slide their hand carefully down, down, until it’s right above their leg. As they get closer, Purple hisses and flinches away.

Black stops.

“...right,” Purple mutters, mostly to themselves, “Impostors can smell blood.”

Navigation is silent for long, unbreathable seconds.

Purple head bows. “Med bay?”

“Yeah.”

They turn and walk out of Navigation, Black following behind. The doors hiss open as they walk through, already beginning to tug off their suit. Black still turns away, fetching antiseptic, bandages, gauze, anything they might need, and anything to keep their hands busy.

Purple sits on the bed, hands folded in their lap. Their posture is immaculate. Their face is serene. They do not flinch as Black sets everything down.

They’re so, so scared.

Black takes a few steps back and rolls their shoulders a few times, letting the suit and helmet shift into the complete human. Purple watches, their face still blank, even as their hands twitch slightly.

“Is this okay,” Black asks gently, spreading their hands, “can I come closer?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Black lays their hand on the bed, trying to keep their human face from twitching too obviously. “Will you show me, please?”

Purple’s mouth hardens into a thin line. Their hands ball into fists. They take a deep breath and begin to unfasten their undersuit.

Six angry red lines neatly across the top of each thigh.

“Oh, baby,” Black murmurs, almost unconsciously, “are you really that scared?”

Purple’s fists twitch.

Black reaches out to lightly run their fingers over the cuts. They’re far too rough, too harsh, to be here. Their maw snarls even as they keep it firmly shut.

“Is not knowing really this awful?”

“I’m surviving,” Purple says smoothly.

“No, no, Purple, this isn’t survival, this is...self-destruction.” Black runs their fingers over it again. “You’re _killing_ yourself, Purple.”

“Why do _you_ care?”

Black looks up in shock at Purple’s angry tone. Their mouth drops open. Purple’s glare burns into them, almost hard enough to force them back.

“You said you needed me—no, my _credentials_ to get you clearance to land on Polus,” Purple hisses, glaring at Black, “and you needed a crewmate to avoid suspicion when we were hailed for a course change.”

Their jaw ticks.

“Well, you’ve gotten clearance. No one’s suspicious. You got what you wanted. You told me I didn’t have to pretend, well guess what, _you_ don’t get to either.”

Purple thinks they’re...pretending?

“You never answered my question either,” Purple continues, “don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

“I was going to—“

Purple scoffs. “It’s been days, Black. _Days_. Just because I’m easy to lie to doesn’t mean you get to do it.”

“Purple—“

“No. I’ve sat, lied down, rolled over, I’ve done everything to behave. To be _good_.”

Black tries not to flinch at the way their voice cracks on the word ‘good.’

“And I’ve worked my butt off trying to keep this ship in one piece. I haven’t asked any questions about you or what else you think you're doing here! I’ve been—I’ve done everything right! I did everything you needed, that you wanted, and now—“

Purple balls their fists so tightly their knuckles turn white.

“This may just be _routine_ for you at this point but it’s _not_ for me. _I_ still have to work out how to get out of bed every day. I still have to work out how to survive. So you don’t _get_ to do that. You don’t get to tell me that I’m surviving wrong.”

“That’s not what this is, Purple—“

“Then why? _Why_ are you pretending to care, _why_ are you being so _nice_ to me, and _why_ won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d believe me!”

Purple’s voice trails off into stunned silence.

Black squeezes their eyes shut and bites back a curse as their shout echoes around the room. Their head falls forward and their grip on the bed tightens.

“Because I don’t think _I_ believe me.”

They take a deep breath.

“Because until this mission, humans were careless, arrogant destroyers who declared war on us without ever acknowledging our existence,” they grit out, “because they were heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty and power-hungry.”

The mattress wheezes under their grip.

“Because if this had been any other mission all of you would’ve been dead and I would be off this ship by now. Because it was supposed to be _Green_ we kept alive.”

Black looks up at Purple. Their eyes are wide.

“Because you were shunned and neglected and ridiculed by your own crew and still you never said a bad word about any of them,” they say, “because you were the only person on this ship that gave a shit about the people that died, not just who the Impostors were.”

They straighten up a little, still staring desperately at Purple.

“Because even when you were scared you _tried_. You listened about Polus and you took care of your crewmates and you talked about _milkshakes_ ,” they say with a huff, “and you _cared_.”

They try and soften their expression as much as they can.

“Because you were soft and kind and sweet and wonderful to me, Purple,” they say, “even when you had no reason to be.”

Black looks down.

“Because if someone like you is human and you’re still that kind, then maybe this war isn’t endless.”

Purple’s breath catches in their throat.

“Because damnit, Purple,” Black whispers, their hair almost brushing Purple’s bare shoulder, “you _make_ me care.”

Silence.

Black’s heart beats so loudly they’re sure Purple can hear it. Their too-short nails dig into the mattress, their too-small mouth panting, out of breath.

They look up slowly, awaiting judgment.

Purple’s eyes are wide, their mouth slightly open. The anger in their expression is gone, replaced with something that might be...shock? Pity? Sympathy?

Black swallows.

“I’m sorry.”

If Purple’s eyes were wide, now they’re _giant_.

“I’m sorry I killed your crew,” Black murmurs, holding eye contact, “I’m sorry I sabotaged your ship. I’m sorry I took you as a hostage. I’m sorry I’ve scared you so badly.”

They open their mouth, presumably to offer forgiveness, but Black keeps going.

“I’m sorry the crew was so awful to you,” they say, fighting to stifle the comforting noise they want to make at Purple’s expression, “I’m sorry that you felt—that you _feel_ so alone out here. And I’m sorry that the first person to show you kindness in a long time is an Impostor.”

Purple’s gaze darts frantically all over their face. Black holds steady.

“I’m sorry for whatever has made you anxious about being good,” they continue, “I’m sorry for whatever made you afraid of being kind, and I’m sorry for whatever made you think that this—“ they indicate Purple’s cuts with their chin— “is _anything_ close to surviving.”

They close their eyes and tip their head forward.

“And I’m sorry for dragging you into this _fucking_ war.”

The med bay falls quiet.

Black’s hands slump on the bed, exhausted. Their shoulders slump. Even their maw relaxes uneasily, the taste of the words in their mouth so unfamiliar.

They’re no stranger to interrogations, nor have they ever been unwilling to speak the truth.

But this...

This is different.

Now all they can do is wait.

After a few moments, they feel something gently bump against their forehead. Purple. It’s Purple, leaning forward to rest their heads together. Black lets their eyes drift closed, letting the warmth of Purple wash over them, through them.

Distantly, the rumble of the engines hums beneath their feet.

“ _Fuck_.”

It’s so unexpected, coming from Purple, even as strangled and quiet and exhausted as it is, and yet such an accurate summary of whatever the fuck is going on, that it surprises a laugh out of them.

“You know,” they mumble, leaning back a little, “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse.”

“Really? I used to curse all the time.”

They huff softly. “Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure that’s it. I think the closest I’ve ever heard you say is ‘damn.’”

“Huh. Guess I must be out of practice.”

Black chuckles. “Maybe so.”

A faint smile briefly touches the corners of Purple’s lips, only to drop after barely a moment. They stare at Black, brows furrowed, eyes soft.

“...those are pretty good reasons,” they say finally, “to not tell me.”

And it’s so _Purple_ that it makes them smile sadly. “No, they’re not. Not really. You should’ve known.”

They lean forward to bump their foreheads again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, you’ve told me now.”

“I have,” Black agrees, “and I mean it.”

“I know.” Purple looks away. “I don’t...I don’t actually think you’ve...”

They look back up.

“Have you ever...lied to me?”

Black’s gut twists. “Once.”

_Green was not An Impostor._

“...that,” Purple says after a moment, “that was _surviving_.”

“It was,” Black nods, “but that doesn’t make it right. Or good.”

“Right...” Purple’s hands fall limply in their lap, staring off into space. “I guess you really can’t just...expect that to always work.”

They look so _small_...

“Hey,” Black calls gently, “that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t _try_ , yeah?”

“...yeah?”

They smile. “Learned that from you.”

Instead of a small laugh or even just a _smile,_ Purple’s face drops. Back to the awful uncertainty that makes Black’s maw snarl. They soften instantly, moving a little closer, curving around them in the cold of the med bay.

Purple’s finger twitches. Then their hand turns over. Then the other.

Slowly, _so_ slowly, Purple reaches out for Black.

Black accepts wordlessly, dipping gracefully under their outstretched arm to intercept them. Purple’s head tucks easily under their chin, their hair tickling along the underside of their jaw. Their hands clutch shyly at Black’s shirt.

Turning their head, Black wraps their arms securely around Purple’s waist, their maw purring contentedly as Purple presses up against them. Like this, Black’s weight rests entirely on the bed, even as Purple leans against them, their arms clutched to their chest.

Black’s bare arms press against Purple’s and the rush of warmth is almost enough to make them breathless. They can _feel_ this new body coming alight with the sensation, the reassurance, and desperation of having someone—another human—in an embrace like this. Something hot and possessive unfurls in Black’s gut, sharpening the rumble into a purr.

A new kind of hunger tightens Black’s grip. A different need. One that Black can damn near _taste,_ radiating off of Purple as they start to finally, _finally_ go limp in their arms. It’s a new kind of frantic, a new kind of _ache_ that suddenly makes the med bay _burn._ Unbidden, Black’s hands slide lower, holding onto more of Purple, tugging them closer, turning their head to bury their human nose in Purple’s hair. Black has never had this much contact with a human before, and never, _never_ like this.

The purr falters for an instant.

If this is what being a human is like, if Black is _starving_ after barely an hour…then how long must _Purple_ have been waiting for this?

Black doesn’t shush, doesn’t talk, barely makes a noise other than the soft, soothing rumble.

Purple can take as much time as they’d like.

After a long while, Purple’s head turns, almost nuzzling into the crook of Black’s neck. Black rumbles in response, moving just enough to ensure Purple can still breathe. When they glance down, Purple’s little nose is bright red, their eyes swollen, but their face looks a little less drawn.

They look…younger.

Black cups their cheek and strokes away the last tear with their thumb.

“This war won’t take you,” they murmur solemnly, “not on my watch.”

Purple reaches up to take their hand too.

“It won’t take you either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black: hey are you touch-starved?
> 
> Purple: ...perhaps
> 
> Black: can I...help?
> 
> Purple: ...perhaps
> 
> Black:
> 
> Purple:
> 
> Black: oh shit am I touch-starved?


	6. Purple: Polus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Skeld arrives at Polus. 
> 
> Black is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple: okay Black has a plan, right? We're gonna be fine, this is gonna-we're gonna be fine. 
> 
> Black: *panics*

It’s different after that.

Not just because—well, not just because it’s the first _real_ hug Purple’s had since they can’t remember when, but because Black has started to take their helmet off.

Well—they don’t actually _have_ a helmet but—you know what Purple means.

The first time they came around the bend to Navigation to see a head of dark hair in the pilot’s seat, they froze. Black had turned around and _smiled._

“Hey, Purple. You get something to eat?”

“I—um—uh—“

Black cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“…helmet?”

“I know, I know, it’s against protocol.” Black had _winked._

“ _Um—_ “ Purple had stammered and their hands on their tablet had shaken— “you—um…I…”

Black’s expression had softened and they’d turned around more fully. They had gestured to their _human_ face. “No?”

“What?”

They did it again. “Not good?”

“N-no, no, it’s, um…it’s fine. It just startled me, that’s all.”

“Well, I’d hate to do that.”

If they’d’ve said it earlier, it would’ve been a threat, or at the very least a wry remark. Instead, their voice was soft, their expression unguarded.

Purple had done their tasks and left Navigation, wondering if it was going to stay.

Well, judging by how Black’s helmet had _stayed_ off, it’s not going anywhere.

Or, rather, it’s _gone_ somewhere but it’s not coming back. You get it.

Black doesn’t leave Navigation that much, not except to make a quick detour to Weapons for the asteroids when Purple’s somewhere else. The ship runs smoothly. Purple does the tasks that are needed, but without the constant breaks—sabotages, there’s not much else to do. They keep up with their work of analyzing the samples, recording their findings in their logs, and doing their best to remember that—

…well they’re not too sure what they’re supposed to remember anymore.

Black is an Impostor. They have to remember that.

But…why? They were warned about Impostors because Impostors _kill_ people. They kill people and sabotage ships and destroy crews. But Black hasn’t hurt them _once._ Black isn’t trying to sabotage the ship anymore. They’ve—Purple’s done their job. They’ve done what was asked of them. They’ve…proven their use.

And as awful as it sounds, they…they don’t _mind_ this.

The ship doesn’t feel like there are eyes everywhere anymore. It doesn’t feel like they have to constantly perform, even under the helmet. They don’t feel like they have to keep looking over their shoulder. It…doesn’t feel like they’re _alone_ anymore.

They recognize the irony in this, don’t worry.

Purple leans their head against the wall next to Security and sighs. They know they’re supposed to be afraid, or at least angry. That’s the first thing they _told_ Purple about Impostors. Impostors are bad. They’re not your friends. They’ll hurt you and kill you and you should _never_ trust them.

But Black is at _war._

War is…messy. Complicated. There are not really any firm lines you can draw cleanly.

And if Purple’s gonna be honest, Black’s been kinder to them than most humans have. Let alone what humans _would_ be kind in Black’s position.

All that is fine and good—well, it’s not, but relatively speaking—but it doesn’t change the fact that Purple is still a hostage on this ship who has _no_ idea what they’re doing. That doesn’t change the fact that they’ve watched their crew be torn apart from the inside, murdered, and thrust into the cold vacuum of space. That doesn’t change the fact that they might never go home again.

_Home._

Purple shakes themselves and sets about fixing the wires. This is almost the last set they’ve got to do before they dock. Polus is only a few days away. They’ve never been good at leaving things unfinished.

They connect the last wire and close the panel, walking over to Security to start the download. As they work, their eyes glance over and they catch a glimpse of the camera screens. They pause.

The chair sits abandoned in the corner of the room as they pass it, resting their hands on the keys. They feel too big under Purple’s fingers, even with the gloves.

_“Alright,” Red sighs, pulling their chair over, “this shouldn’t take long, kid. You’ve finished all your training courses, right?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Good. It’s a standard camera layout. All you’re gonna do is cycle through them, you understand?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Go ahead.”_

_Purple’s fingers click through the camera intersections, their eyes scanning the layout of the ship. The junctions are labeled individually._

_“Now bring up the gallery view.” Red leans against the panel. “Good. Now, you probably won’t be using these, because you’re not allowed in here without clearance, so this is more a formality than anything else.”_

_“I understand, sir.”_

_“This isn’t a toy, you hear, kid? But if you need to, you can use ‘em. Just make sure to run it by one of us first.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Good. You’re dismissed.”_

Red.

“I’m sorry,” Purple murmurs to the abandoned chair. The green plastic covering stares back at them. “Can I—may I look at the cameras, please?”

The chair rotates with a horrid squeak.

“Thank you, sir.”

Purple looks at the screens. The Skeld is quiet. Only the soft buzz and hum of the electronics interrupts the silence in between Purple’s clicks. They leave the screens in gallery view as they watch, standing at attention in front of the massive monitor.

They keep expecting to see Orange walk by one, or Green. Or Red themselves, heading to Navigation to speak with Blue.

Nothing.

Purple’s hands tremble a little on the keys and they bite back a curse. Lately, it seems like all they do is cry and grieve and mourn. And somewhere they _know_ it’s understandable; they’ve lost their entire crew, their whole world view has been changed so drastically in what feels like a _moment_ and they’re heading deeper into the unknown than they’ve even been before.

Another part of them snarls at them to get themselves together. They’ve still got a job to do. Keep their chin up. Don’t show any more weakness. There’s still an _Impostor_ on board and even if there wasn’t, they’re not a sniveling child anymore. No one’s going to wipe their tears and tell them everything’s going to be okay. To get thicker skin if they want to stop feeling hurt.

That part is quickly met with recollection of gentled fingers dabbing at their cheeks, soft hands on the tops of their legs soothing away the sting of the antiseptic with bandages, and a low voice murmuring things they’d only ever let themselves _hope_ for. Reassurances. Apologies. Promises.

Purple’s not sure what they believe anymore.

A flash of movement catches their eye. They blink. Look up.

Black walks out of Navigation, their helmet still off, glancing around. Their gaze lands on the camera and they stop, tilting their head as the corner of their mouth tugs up. They lift their hand and give a little wave.

Purple waves back before they can stop themselves.

On the screen, Black pats their stomach and mouths the word ‘hungry?’

Purple nods, then realizes Black can’t see them. They quickly step back from the screens, remembering to shut them off, and hustle to the cafeteria.

Black meets them at the entrance, still smiling.

“How are your tasks going?”

“Almost done.”

“That’s good.” Black gestures toward the table. “I’ll wait for you, yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

Purple goes through the line. Try a bit of everything because you don’t know what you might like. But…if you _want_ a little more of the fruit because no one else is gonna eat it, then that’s okay.

And you can grab an extra cookie.

Black raises their eyebrow when Purple sits down. “ _Two_ cookies today, hmm?”

“I’m allowed.”

“Yes, yes you are.” Black takes a single piece of fruit as Purple sets their own helmet gingerly on the table next to them. “Are these…good?”

“For space food, it’s not bad,” Purple says as they begin to eat, “but the real non-dehydrated version is better.”

“Does it look this wrinkly?”

“No, not at all. It’s—uh…”

Purple trails off, looking at their tray, their fork twisted back and forth between their fingers.

“…no, it’s not that wrinkly.”

Black pauses. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Purple goes back to eating, their eyes fixed on the table in front of them. Out of the corner of their eye, they see Black eat the piece of fruit.

“…tastes familiar.” They take another. “Haven’t eaten in a while.”

Purple’s hand freezes. “Have you—do you—when was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not going to eat you, Purple.”

“That… _wasn’t_ what I asked, but…thank you?”

Black huffs. “That should _not_ be something you thank me for.”

“No…but…?”

“I’m fine,” Black says, smiling, “don’t worry.”

“You do realize you’re asking _me_ not to worry, right?”

“I know, babe.”

And see, _this_ is the problem.

Purple could be close with Black. Purple could be _very_ close with Black. If things were different, if they weren’t a hostage and an Impostor, if there wasn’t this _war_ going on the Purple had _never_ heard about, if…

If.

But ifs never got anyone much of anywhere on their own.

As it stands, Purple is a hostage. Black is the one holding them hostage. And they have to remember that.

Purple finishes their food and politely excuses themselves. Black smiles—they’re not gonna get over _that_ anytime soon, though—and they part ways. Purple lets themselves get to Upper Engine before they sit down against the wall and bury their face in their hands.

They want. They _want._ But they can’t.

Impostors are eerily perceptive, though, and it’s not like Purple’s very hard to read. It doesn’t take very long before Black is sitting in the cafeteria at the end of one day cycle in fatigues, their boots propped up and crossed on a table. They look up from the tablet in their lap and smile.

“Tasks go well?”

“Mhm.” Purple stops. “How are you—you’re not even _leaning_ against anything.”

“Hm?” Black glances around at themselves. “No, I guess not. Why, can humans not normally do this?”

“We—we _can,_ it’s just—holding yourself like that takes a pretty significant amount of core strength. And, uh…how _long_ have you been like that?”

Black shrugs.

“… _sure._ ”

They chuckle. “Which is more against protocol, this or the fact that I’m not wearing a suit?”

“…well, we’re not exactly allowed in the common areas—or anywhere outside our personal quarters, really—without the suits.”

“I see.”

“But considering Brown used to do that all the time _with_ the suit and all they got were a few half-hearted things from Blue or Red, I _guess_ that’s fine?”

“The combination probably not though, huh?”

“Probably not.”

_“Oh, come on, Cap,” Brown remarks, their boots propped up on the table, “I’ve got the next sanitation run anyway, I’ll clean up after myself! I’m getting paid for it.”_

_“This is still my ship,” Blue says cooly, “and you will treat it with respect.”_

_“Course I treat it with respect,” Brown grumbles as they do what they’re told, “I gotta. ’S the only way I’m gonna get home with my paycheck.”_

_Purple sets their tray carefully next to Brown’s. “May I…?”_

_Brown glances around to see the other tables full. “Yeah, sure, kid. Just don’t make a huge mess.”_

_“I won’t, I promise.”_

_Brown does a double-take when they see Purple’s tray with the fruit in the left cup and the meat in the right._

_“…I didn’t take too much, did I?”_

_“Huh? Oh, uh, no, kid, you did fine.” Brown twirls their fork in their on tray. “…just that my kid does the same, that’s all.”_

_“I didn’t know you had a kid.”_

_“Never told you, did I? Can’t really expect you to know.”_

_Purple sits quietly for a moment. “…what’s their name?”_

_Brown glances over. Something in their shoulders seems to soften. “…Junior. They’re a good kid.”_

_“I’m sure they are.”_

Brown.

Purple blinks. Black stares at them, an inscrutable expression on their face. When Purple looks at them again, it vanishes, softening as they indicate the other seat. “Come join me?”

“I can’t do _that._ ”

“What, no core strength?”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Black laughs, holding their hands up. “I’m teasing. C’mon.”

Purple does as bid, sitting at the table. Black moves, sitting up and moving the tablet away. They move easily, as though they _know_ their body inside and out. Even though this isn’t their body.

If Purple looks close enough, they can remember that.

“What,” Black asks, snapping them out of their thoughts, “is there something on my arm?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no, sorry, it’s just, um…” Purple gestures to where Black caught them staring. “You don’t have goosebumps.”

“Goosebumps?”

“It’s a, um, adaptation we have for when our body temperature drops.” Purple moves their hand to their own arm to explain. “The muscles at the base of the hair follicles contract, making the hairs stand up.”

“How does that keep you warm?”

“For furrier animals that we evolved from, making the hairs stand on end creates an insulating effect. We don’t really have enough hair for that to work so it’s more of a hormonal response than anything.”

“Hormonal?”

“Uh…it’s an involuntary response to shifts in temperature or emotion.”

Black hums, looking at their arm. “So…like _this?”_

Purple’s eyes go wide beneath the helmet as goosebumps appear on Black’s arms. “Yep. Uh-huh, that’s—that’s how they look.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah…”

“What sorts of emotions are they tied with?”

Purple furrows their brow, glancing up at Black’s face. “…why?”

Black shrugs. “Just curious.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Instead of repeating it, a small smile tugs at the corners of Black’s mouth. “Tell you what. You answer my question, I’ll answer yours?”

Purple shifts, feeling their _own_ goosebumps form beneath the thick suit. “Fight or flight.”

“Hmm?”

“Most furry animals puff themselves up during a fight-or-flight response. Bigger thing, maybe not so appetizing or as easily taken down.”

“You know,” Black says softly, “I heard that humans had a flight-or-fight response to fear, but I think they missed one.”

“What’s that?”

“ _Freeze._ ”

“Yeah, it’s mostly tied to—“ Purple cuts themselves off. “…yeah.”

Black tilts their head, expression softening. “Why do you do that, babe?”

“Do what?”

“You’re about to say something sometimes, and then you just—“ Black waves their hand in front of their mouth— “stop.”

Purple shrugs. Black frowns.

“Have people told you to be quiet?”

Unbidden, they huff. “In what context?”

That seems to be enough of an answer for Black. They sigh, looking away.

“Your turn.”

They look back. “Hm?”

“Will you answer my question now?”

Black nods, tapping their fingers on the table. “I will, just give me a moment to get my words in the right order.”

“…is it gonna take a few days again?”

“No,” they chuckle, “just a moment.”

Purple waits. They glance down at their gloved hands in their lap, twisting their fingers together.

“You said that not being able to see my face was scary,” Black says after a little while, “and that not knowing was scary.”

Purple nods.

“And I’m not gonna lie, these suits can be real intimidating.” They nod to Purple’s suit. “Even when you’re in one too.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I thought that if—if _I_ looked a little less scary,” they say, “it might…help.”

They raise an eyebrow.

“Was I wrong?”

“No,” Purple says quickly, “no, no, not—not really.”

Black tilts their head.

“I…it’s not that I _don’t—_ it’s not that it’s _not_ helping,” Purple settles on, “but it’s—you don’t have to do that just for me. I know—I mean, I get that being a human might make you…it might not be the greatest for you.”

Something flickers across Black’s expression for a moment and they smile. “Believe me, this isn’t any more of a strain on me. I wouldn’t be doing it if it was.”

“Okay.”

They nod. “I guessed that if you were seeing another human with you, another crewmate, then maybe it would help you feel a little less scared.”

“…oh.”

Black leans forward, concerned. “Yeah? No?”

_Yes._

_No._

“…it’s complicated.”

“What isn’t,” they say softly, “but what else can I do?”

“What?”

“To help,” Black repeats, “what else can I do to help?”

It’s too much. Their voice is low and soothing and their expression is caring and open and they’re an Impostor and Purple is so, _so_ lost.

“Hey, hey,” Black’s calling instantly as Purple slumps, burying their head in their hands, “it’s okay, it’s okay, baby, shh—“

“Don’t,” Purple says sharply, “don’t do that. Just—give me a minute.”

Black hushes. Purple takes a deep breath and rubs their faceplate. When they look up again, Black is staring at them with such open concern that their chest hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want your help,” they manage finally, “and it’s not that this—this _hasn’t_ been helping, but…you get why this is weird, right?”

“Everything is weird, Purple.”

“No—well, yes, but this.” Purple gestures between them. “You get why _this_ is weird, right?”

Black raises an eyebrow. “I’m not trying to take you as a mate, Purple.”

“That’s _not—no!”_ Purple goes to pinch the bridge of their nose only to remember too late they’ve got a helmet on. “That’s _not_ what I meant.”

“Okay _good._ ”

“I mean…” Purple covers their faceplate with their fingers. “I get that you want to help me. I mean, I don’t understand _why_ and I don’t understand… _anything_ anymore but you want to help. And that’s great and everything but there’s a limit to how much you can help.”

Black stays quiet as Purple takes another breath.

“And it’s not that I…that I _don’t_ want help but I…there’s a _crazy_ power dynamic here and we can’t—there’s not really any getting around it.”

They close their eyes. “Not just because I’m your hostage and you’re an Impostor and all that—even though that’s a big part of it—but I…”

“Take your time,” Black says quietly when Purple can’t find their words.

“…I don’t have enough experience to know how this _should_ work to know where the boundaries are,” they admit finally, “I’ve never—no one has really—I don’t—“

They take a shakier breath.

“I don’t know the protocol for this,” they finish in a whisper, “and part of me is still convinced that you’re still asking me things so you can do your job better next time.”

Black is quiet. Purple squeezes their eyes shut. They’ve ruined it now. Black is going to think they’re ungrateful. Black is going to be angry that Purple is so high maintenance. Black is going to storm off or send them away.

A low sloshing sound makes them jump, forcing their eyes open. They look over and see Black sitting there, still looking away. Their eyes rake over Black’s form. Nothing’s changed. Not that they can see. But then what was the noise…?

“Baby,” Black mutters, though Purple can’t tell if it’s to themselves or not, “the baby of the crew.”

They glance up at Purple.

“That’s what they called you, right?”

“…yeah.”

Black nods, looking down. After a moment they shake their head, maybe mulling something over. They glance up and smile sadly.

“You’re right,” they murmur, “and I’ll back off. It’s not your job to make that call.”

“The, um…having your helmet off is…good,” Purple tries.

Their smile grows fond as another sloshing sound reforms the suit, their helmet still missing. “Helmet off it is.”

The engines hum in the background.

“What happens when we get to Polus?”

Black’s smile fades. They straighten up. “We’ll be called in quarantine. The ship will be scanned and our belongings treated for radiation.”

Purple’s throat closes. “Will they—the badges, can I—“

“I’m sure they’ll make sure they’re safe,” Black promises, “and considering there’s _not_ any radiation, I’m sure you’ll be able to—“

They cut themselves off, looking away. Their jaw ticks.

“I’m sure all your stuff will be fine.”

Goosebumps. Fear response.

“…what aren’t you telling me?”

“Us being taken into quarantine is an excuse. Both for you and for me.”

“How so?”

“Impostors have more presence on the Polus outpost than you think,” Black says lowly, “and quarantine is the most effective way to separate people.”

“…so…”

“So I’ll be taken into quarantine and smuggled out back to _our_ base,” Black says, “with the cover that I need to be taken for more extreme treatment.”

Purple swallows. “And what about me?”

“…an accident,” Black says, “a medical fault. Radiation overload.”

“They’re going to kill me.”

“Yes.”

Oh.

Purple takes a deep breath.

Oh.

Well…

…so be it.

Instead of more cold fear gripping their chest until they choke, Purple feels…gray. It washes over them in waves, coaxing briars out of their lungs, sweeping inky darkness out of their gut. They’re going to die when they get to Polus. They will dock, they will be escorted to quarantine, and then they’re going to die.

Alright.

In the back of their mind, in a small, dark place that still thrills at the brushing of the sharp table against their legs, a tiny voice whispers _finally._

Purple almost wants to smile.

They hear another sloshing sound and blink, looking over at Black. From this angle, they can’t see the tensing of Black’s fist by their knee, nor the snarling maw Black has just forced closed. Instead, all they can see is the way Black’s gaze hardens, just for a moment, before another fond smile crosses their face and they stand, offering their hand to Purple.

“Have you ever been to the Polus outpost before?”

“No, why?”

“Come with me to Navigation,” they say softly, “the view is incredible from up here.”

Purple reaches up to take Black’s hand. Black pulls them to their feet as they start walking out of the cafeteria. They keep a hold of Purple until they reach the console.

Black sits in the pilot’s seat as Purple moves to the course chart. Their icon is almost to Polus. Shouldn’t be long now.

“You can sit,” Black’s voice calls, “unless you’ve got more tasks to finish?”

Purple thinks. “The only thing left would be a comms diagnostic. We haven’t…well, they haven’t been used since we left.”

“…we may not need them if you don’t want to,” Black says, “they’ll hail the bridge directly.”

“I can’t leave a job unfinished.”

“Alright. Come back?” Black nods toward the window. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“I’ll come back.”

Purple leaves. Their footsteps echo on the floors of the Skeld. It’s remarkable, how much their outlook has changed, even for them, in the space of a few moments. They don’t look around the ship anymore. They don’t worry about…well, much of anything.

Comms are finicky, which is why Brown always preferred to work alone. Purple fiddles with the dials until the waveforms synchronize, the period consistent and the peaks easily discernible. No spontaneous collapse here today. As the light turns green, another wave of gray washes over them.

Almost there.

They return to Navigation, taking a seat to Black’s left. They tap the console once to confirm the course heading. Black adjusts the engines accordingly.

“There.”

It’s the note of wonder in Black’s voice that makes them look up. Purple’s breath catches in their throat.

Polus is _glowing._ It spins in the darkness of space, illuminated only by the soft amber light of its surface. Even from up here, they can see the massive ebb and flow of the lava, casting shadows onto deep purple landscapes that appear almost ethereal in the glow. A sea of clouds swirls about the planet’s atmosphere, almost like a shell, curled protectively over the molten surface. In the fringes between the clouds, iridescent shimmers of red, green, yellow, blue, _light_ sparks along the ridges of the air.

It looks so _alive._

Purple turns to look at Black. Their gaze is trained directly at the planet, watching it spin lazily in space. They look…is melancholy the right word?

They look back at Polus. As they look closer, they see the streaks in the clouds from the jet emissions. They see routes that look like cuts from the roads of the base. They see the remains of what looks like explosions.

They see the wounds humanity has inflicted.

The planet turns again, covered in battle scars, still glowing.

“Welcome home,” Purple says softly.

“Thank you.”

“Polus to Skeld, come in, Skeld.”

Purple snaps to the conn. “This is the Skeld, go ahead.”

“Identify yourself, Crew Mate.”

“Purple, ID 119144.”

There’s a pause. “Is there anyone else with you, Crew Mate?”

“In Navigation or on the ship?”

“Your crew, what’s your count?”

Purple glances over at Black. “Two, Sentry.”

“What is the ID of the other?”

“Black, ID 783920.”

Another pause. “You’re clear to land, Skeld. Quarantine protocol immediately in effect once you do.”

“Understood.”

The hail ends and Purple is washed in gray.

Black steers the Skeld down to the surface, following the lights down to the hanger. As the landing gear groans under the weight of the ship, Purple stands up from the conn. They don’t look back as they walk to their quarters.

Any moment now they’re going to be off the ship. Any moment now they’re going to be ushered into quarantine.

Any moment now, they’re going to die.

Purple carefully takes the shoebox and opens it. The ID badges and cards lie next to each other, cold and dull in the cardboard. Purple glances around to find a tissue box, spotting the one next to their bed. Slowly, carefully, they wrap each one in tissue to keep them from banging around and knocking together, settling the now-cushioned box in their arms with the lid fully on top.

They walk out of their quarters with the box, heading towards the dropship. Black is already standing there, their helmet still off, looking at the door. It hasn’t opened yet. They turn as Purple comes to a halt next to them.

Purple frowns a little at their expression. It’s not unlike the one they had when they looked at Polus, but it’s a little more…hard?

Black’s hand comes up slowly, slow enough that Purple could move if they wanted. They stay still as the hand carefully cups the side of their helmet.

For long seconds, neither of them moves. Black's helmet is still off. The shoebox weighs heavy in Purple’s arms.

“I meant what I said,” Black murmurs finally, “this war won’t take you.”

Before Purple can even _begin_ to process what that means, now, _here,_ the door opens, and Black steps away, their helmet reforming in a blink.

The sight of two people, one in a blue suit, one in a pink suit, is almost enough to send Purple to the ground.

“Welcome to Polus,” Blue says, “you’ll have to be separated now.”

Purple nods. Black starts off the ship, their gait sure and steady. Purple follows behind, still clutching the shoe box. Black doesn’t look back as Pink leads them off down a corridor.

“Come on,” Blue says, “this way. Don’t dawdle, now.”

Purple hustles to keep up, not paying much attention to where they’re going, waiting any minute for the lights to die, the oxygen to malfunction, something. Instead, Blue leads them to another med bay, one with a corridor of rooms. They flash their badge and the lock turns green next to one of the doors. They push it open.

“In here, please.”

Purple obeys, stepping inside the door and toward the single bed. The shoebox feels heavy.

“On the scanner.”

“Sorry?”

Blue waves at the corner, indicating the scanner. “On there, if you please. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Purple sets the shoebox down carefully, climbing on the scanner. The green pattern fizzles into existence and begins the slow travel up and down their body.

Blue steps closer to the screens, peering at the results. “Must’ve been quite a trip for you, huh?”

“…you could say that.”

“You were supposed to make it to the orbiter, yeah?” Blue huffs. “I _hate_ those runs. Always feels like we spend an eternity dodging small gravity wells.”

Against their better judgment, Purple finds their mouth turning up. “And the turbulence always feels _smoother_ than the maneuvering it takes to get around them.”

Blue laughs. “You got it.”

The scanner buzzes and begins to reverse course. Blue taps their fingers against the desk.

“You know I had a look at the crew roster,” they say quietly after a moment, “just to see if we needed to get any special equipment or medication here for you guys.”

They glance up at Purple. “You’re awful young for all this, aren’t you?”

Purple shuffles uneasily.

“…well, for what it’s worth,” Blue continues, “I think you’re awful brave, kid. God knows I wasn’t doing any of this until I was way past your age.”

“…thank you.”

Blue nods. The scanner beeps as they look at the results. “Well, good news seems to be that you haven’t been exposed to much harmful radiation, if at all. On-board systems must’ve done their job right, huh?”

“Mm.”

“You can come down off there, kid,” Blue says, holding out their hand, “just have a seat on the bed for me and I’ll give you another once-over.”

Purple sits.

“We’re still gonna have you quarantine for a few days,” Blue says as they start running a smaller scanner over Purple, “just in case anything does present itself. But I don’t think you’re gonna have to stress too much about it.”

“I won’t.”

“You get any other injuries I need to look at? I know these older models can be a bit temperamental.”

“You don’t have any to worry about, no.”

Blue pauses, huffing a little as they set the scanner aside. “It’s our job to worry, though,” they say quietly, “isn’t it, kid?”

“…I suppose it is.”

“Get some rest,” Blue instructs after a moment, “you don’t have to worry about keeping your suit on in here. There’s a food supplier in the corner, we can refill it from the other side if you run out, you got water, facilities, everything you’ll need.”

“…shower?”

“There’s a shower.”

“Medical supplies?”

Blue chuckles. “Just the basics, kid. Antiseptic, antibiotic cream, tape, gauze, bandages. Nothing else.”

“Okay.”

“Get some rest,” Blue repeats, “you’ve earned it, okay?”

“W-wait,” Purple calls as Blue turns to go, “can you…may I ask for a favor?”

They stop, turning back. “Depends a little on what it is, kid.”

Purple reaches for the shoebox, their hands clinging to it a little tighter than necessary. “Will you take this for me?”

Blue looks at it. “What is it?”

Purple swallows. “Not all of my crew made it. Some of them had to be—“ they swallow again— “some of their bodies are unrecoverable.”

They hold the shoebox out insistently.

“This is what I was able to recover. Badges. ID cards. I want—can you make sure their families get them back?”

There’s a long pause as Blue looks at Purple.

“I—I wasn’t able to get all of them. But Green—Green, ID 185132—they have—in their quarters, third bunk from the left, they’ve got a pin from their partner they keep on their desk, if you could—I think their partner should get that back too.” Their hands on the side of the shoebox tremble a little from holding the box for so long. “A-and I wasn’t able to get White’s or Cyan’s—IDs 315124 and 121139—and I don’t know if they have any personal effects they left.”

Another long pause.

Then Blue’s hands slowly come up to take the box.

“You’re a brave kid,” they murmur, “and your crew was lucky to have you.”

“…please, make sure they get home?”

“I promise,” Blue says, holding the box firmly, “these’ll be returned to their families.”

“Thank you.”

“No, kid,” Blue says, “thank _you.”_

The gloves stick a little to the box as Purple lets go.

“Get some rest,” Blue murmurs as they step away, “you’ve _more_ than earned it.”

Purple nods, watching them start out of the room. As they leave, they turn back one last time.

“Good job, Purple.”

The door slides closed behind them.

Purple exhales slowly and closes their eyes, leaning back to lie down on the bed. Their job is done. They did it. That’s it. It’s over now.

Another wave of gray washes over them, slightly sharper than the others. The dull roar of fear in their head changes key.

Any moment now, an Impostor is going to kill them. Are they going to come through the door? Through a vent? Are there vents in this room? They hadn’t checked.

…is it going to hurt?

Is Black going to be in trouble?

Where _is_ Black?

Is Black…done?

Purple’s eyes squeeze tighter.

Is Black happy to be home? They didn’t _look_ especially happy. Is Black angry? Are the others going to be angry? Are they going to be angry at _Purple?_ Did Purple do it wrong?

…is it going to be Black?

Purple sits up slowly. Their suit catches a little on the sheets and they look down at their gloves. They’d actually rather _not_ die in this suit.

Taking the suit off is slow. Setting it down and laying it out is methodical. Taking out their ID card and taking off their badge is easy.

They glance around. They step into the shower and let the warm water beat over their shoulders, their eyes closed. Distantly, they wonder if they use the lava to heat the water.

Well, they’ll never find out now.

The shower is warm and wet and strips the Skeld from their skin, washing it away with long, gray strokes. They towel off and pull on a set of clothes left for them. They fold up their undersuit and set it aside, to be taken away with their suit and helmet. They open the fridge.

Simple food, nothing too exciting, except for a single fruit cup sitting on a shelf.

Unbidden, the corner of their mouth tugs up in a little, sad grin. No more milkshakes, huh?

They eat the fruit cup slowly, savoring every bite. They look down at the smooth fruit before they take the last bit, disposing of the cup and walking back to the bed. As they reach it, another gray wave crashes into them, making their head fuzzy. They pull back the sheets and crawl into bed, the lights dimming as they curl around the extra pillow. It’s smooth, soft, a little chill to the touch. They close their eyes and hug the pillow close.

_Rest._

Purple falls asleep in the gray room.

* * *

They wake up.

Blink a few times as the lights come back on. They sit up. The room stares back at them, the electronics humming softly. They look around. Nothing’s changed except their suit and helmet are gone. Their badge and ID card are still on the side where they left them.

They get out of bed and go to the fridge. They eat their fruit cup and a bit of the protein. They glance around the room. No vents.

Huh.

Okay, then. They can wait.

They spend their day pacing. They spend the next day on the provided tablet, reading. They spend the next day in a slowly-sharpening gray haze.

Black never specified _when_ this ‘accident’ was going to happen, but they’d guessed it would’ve been faster than this.

Quarantine, even when you’re waiting to be killed, is boring.

When their suit turns up at the end of the quarantine period, they hesitate. Is…is _this_ the accident? Something going wrong with their suit? They lay it over their lap and carefully inspect it, gingerly poking and prodding before they determine that no, this is just their suit.

They put it on and pin the badge back in place, slipping the ID back into their pocket.

They lock their helmet in place.

A light knock on the door startles them.

“…it’s open.”

“Ah, good,” Blue says as they walk in, “you’re all suited. How’re you feeling?”

“Um…”

“Bored out of your mind? Stir-crazy? Clawing at the walls?” Blue chuckles. “Come on, kid, you’re all good. Let’s get you up and at ‘em, huh?”

“O-okay.”

Purple follows Blue out of the room, glancing around. They don’t see any sign of anyone else, even though the lights are all on. Where are they going? Is _this_ the accident?

“Purple?” Purple snaps back. “You alright there, kid?”

“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Purple says, “just…looking around.”

“You new to Polus?”

“I’ve never been here before, no.”

  
“That’s alright.” Blue stops near the main junction again. “Now, normally we’d just have you guys rest until the transport comes to pick you up and take you home, but we’re a tad short-staffed at the moment, so we’re gonna have you do some tasks for us, okay?”

“Yes, of course, how can I help?”

“My my, aren’t you eager?” Blue lightly pats their arm. “Well, after quarantine, I can’t say I blame you.”

“I’m just happy to help.”

“You’re a good kid.” Blue consults their tablet. “Alright. You just come with me and we’ll get you all set up with the system and then your partner will be along to meet us.”

_Partner?_

Blue leads them around the base until they reach a long ramp, heading up toward what Purple would guess is the surface. They reach the top and turn into an office, where Blue types a few things on the computer.

“Pass me your ID and badge, Purple.”

They hand them over, watching as Blue scans them in and hands them a tablet.

“Alright. Your tasks will show up here. I just gotta make sure this thing gets calibrated properly otherwise you’ll be sitting here for hours.”

“…is it anything like the card reader on the Skeld?”

“Worse,” Blue mutters, “because there’s _two_ of them.”

“What?”

“Yep.” They point to another machine. “You swipe your card there—no getting away from those—and you scan your pass here.”

“Pass?”

“Here.” Blue hands them a small boarding pass that looks an awful lot like their ID card. “This thing.”

“…why do we need two?”

“Some people work only on Polus,” Blue says, “and they use the pass. If you work on and off Polus, like you’re about to now, you need the card and the pass.”

Purple takes it and carefully stows it next to their card.

“Atta kid. Now, we’re almost done here, don’t you worry, you won’t be waiting around much longer, and Black’ll be here in a moment.”

Purple’s brain stutters to a pause.

“B-Black?”

Blue looks up. “Yeah, Purple, Black. Your partner? You guys arrived on the Skeld together?”

“Black’s coming…here?”

Blue chuckles. “Come on, kid. I know quarantine’s boring but it’s not ‘have-a-whole-identity-crisis-and-forget-things’ boring.”

_Speak for yourself, Blue._

“And that’s it,” Blue says, finishing the last piece of typing and turning to Purple, “you should be getting your tasks any minute now.”

Sure enough, a list of tasks appears. Purple squints at the list.

“Now, if you don’t recognize all of ‘em, don’t worry.” Blue pats their shoulder. “Black’s been here more times than I can count. They’ll show you what to do. Speak of the devil!”

Purple swings around.

Black stands there. Their helmet tilts as Purple stares at them. They don’t look any different. It’s still Black.

“You two all set?”

“All good,” Black says in their low, _low_ voice, “thank you, Blue.”

“Sure thing. You two need anything,” Blue says, looking back at Purple, “come holler.”

Purple nods. Blue disappears back down the ramp. Black watches them go, then turns to look back at Purple.

“Got your badge?”

Purple nods.

“Got your tasks?”

Another nod. Black tilts their head and takes a step closer.

“Got your voice?” they ask softly, _so_ softly.

“… _Black?_ ”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

“But I thought—you said—there was no _accident,”_ Purple whispers, “I don’t—what’s going on?”

“I promised this war wouldn’t take you on my watch, Purple,” Black murmurs, “and it won’t. There’s not gonna be an accident.”

“But you—then what’s going to happen?”

Black bows their head for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Blue said something about a transport back to MIRAHQ.”

“ _That_ I did hear,” Black sighs, “though I don’t know when it’s gonna get here.”

“Are you…are you coming?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“Okay.”

They stand there for a moment in the office. Then Black shakes themselves a little and holds their hand out.

“Welcome to Polus, Purple,” they say, a little warmth bleeding back into their voice, “let me show you around?”

Purple takes their hand as Black pulls them out of the office. They tug them a little until they’re walking side by side, out of the office, toward the hallway where they came up.

“This is the conference room in here,” Black says, pointing inside, “it’s where you’ll come to refill water jugs if that comes up as a task. It shouldn’t. Not a lot of meetings being held right now. And there’s the Emergency Button.”

Under the glass case, the button glows red.

They duck around another corner and down through a dark corridor into an office space with a large screen.

“Is this Admin?”

“Yeah, this is Admin, but there aren’t really any tasks in here. It’s not like the Admin on the Skeld, most stuff will be done in the office.”

“Is that a…DVD player?”

“You tell me. I’ve never used it.”

“ _Why is there—_ you know what, it’s fine.” Purple shakes their head. “It’s fine.”

Black chuckles as they move toward a white door. They press a button and guide Purple inside.

“Wait.”

A few seconds later and a sharp _hiss_ fills the air as gas begins to flood the room.

“Purple? Purple! Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Black soothes as Purple squeaks, “it’s just decontamination. We’re heading into the specimens room.”

“Decontamination?”

“There are some specimens down here that are sensitive,” Black explains as another door in front of them opens, leading them into a rocky corridor, “so there are decontamination chambers on either side.”

“Do you have to do that every time you got through here?”

“Pretty much.”

They pass by a few windows in the corridor. Something catches Purple’s eye and they stop, leaning forward to look out.

Snowy shapes. _Snow?_ How?

“Purple?”

“I’m coming.”

Black stands in the middle of the specimens room, tanks bubbling away behind them. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Purple trails off as they notice what’s in the tanks. “What is _that?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Black murmurs, “it’s always been here. It’s either something being developed for mining, or for…”

Purple swallows. “I’m not going anywhere _near_ those, thank you.”

“You won’t have any tasks dealing with them.” As Black leads them out the second rocky tunnel, they glance down. “What _are_ your tasks for today?”

“Um…” Purple checks. “Looks like they’re mostly in Oxygen?”

“Alright. We’ll work around to that.” Black steps into the second Decontamination. “Hold on.”

The gas only startles them mildly this time. “I, um, I don’t think I like this that much.”

Black is quiet for a moment, then they move a little closer. “I don’t blame you.”

The door in front of them opens and they step out.

“This is the normal med bay,” Black says, gesturing around, “not the quarantine one. There’s a scanner, an analyzer, and a telescope.”

“A _telescope?_ ”

“If you’re about to ask me why there’s a telescope in the med bay, I don’t know the answer to that either.”

“No, no, there’s a—can I see?”

Black turns to looks at them, tilting their head, then points. Purple’s eyes widen. There _is_ a telescope. A huge one pointed right at the sky.

“Are there tasks for the telescope?”

“There are,” Black chuckles, “but do you have any right now?”

“No…”

“Hey,” Black says, lightly knuckling the side of their helmet, “don’t sound so disappointed. I’m sure you’ll get one.”

“Okay…”

“Come on, this way. The rest of the laboratory is over here.”

“I guess it makes sense to have the lab right next to the med bay?”

“Given how many times I’ve seen someone drop something,” Black grumbles, mostly to themselves, “it makes _complete_ sense.”

They pass a set of lockers before Black nods to another room. “The drill is in there.”

Purple glances inside. Sure enough, there’s the large silhouette of a truly _massive_ machine, next to a giant, gaping hole in the ground. The metal glints in the dim light. A red spot flashes angrily in the dark.

They take a step back.

“Next?”

“Next.”

They step out of the door and Purple shivers, the change in temperature obvious even through their suit. _Well, there’s the answer to how there’s snow._

“Goosebumps?” Black chuckles as Purple nods, holding out their hand. “Come on, we’ll hurry.”

As they pass along the edge of the base, Black points out the engines, the dropship, and the seismic stabilizers.

“Those work like the reactor did,” Black murmurs, “they need two users to stabilize them.”

Purple nods sharply.

They duck into a storage room, where a fuel canister sits waiting.

“For the engines?”

“For the engines.” Black glances over their shoulder. “You up for another run or you need a minute?”

“Can we just—one second?”

“Of course.”

Purple shakes their hands, trying to get blood flow back into the rest of them. They stop after a moment when they can hear Black laughing.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Black manages, “it’s just…I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I flap, okay? I’m small, I don’t generate that much body heat!”

“I never said it was a bad thing!”

“You were laughing at me!”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just…” They tilt their head and Purple can swear they’re hearing a smile in their voice. “A long few days, huh?”

…a long few days.

“You ready?”

“Sure.”

They hustle to the next building, where Black points out Electrical and the wiring panel.

“It’s outside?”

“Partially, yes.”

“Shouldn’t—doesn’t the snow interfere with the electronics?”

Black shrugs. “No more than anything else does around here.”

…right.

“This is Security,” Black says instead, leading them further along the corridor, “the cameras are in here.”

“Cameras?”

“I’ll point one out to you when we go past.”

Purple’s about to join them inside when they catch sight of guard rails and what look like traffic barriers. They feel over and catch sight of another hole. They tilt their head. It’s smaller than the drill hole and goes _through_ the floor. It also looks…smoother?

“Stay away from those,” comes Black’s voice.

Purple steps back quickly.

“I won’t fall in, I’ll be careful.”

“No, that’s not—well, yes, don’t fall,” Black says softly, “but those…those are like the vents on the Skeld.”

“Oh. I’ll—um…”

“Would you like me to show where the rest of them are?”

“N-no, that’s okay, I’m—I’ll manage.”

“If you change your mind,” Black says, “let me know.”

“I will.”

They go out past Security, down the corridor.

“Here,” Black says as they near another room, “what are your tasks?”

“Um…it says ‘Fill Canisters,’ ‘Monitor Tree,’ and ‘Empty Garbage.’

“Alright. So the chute works the same, except it’s just a one-and-done, it’s over there—“ Black points— “and then come meet me in here, yeah?”

Purple pulls the lever and waits for the soft _click_ of the chute.

“Good job,” Black says, looking up at the _tree_ that’s just…in this room. It’s a full tree, branches, leaves, grass, everything. “Come here, I’ll show you how.”

There’s a panel with several wires attached to the tree. As Purple looks, four sliders appear on the screen.

“You see how the different levels have a little line marked on them?” Purple nods. “Just adjust the slider until the marker is at the line.”

“How do I know when it’s right?”

“The line will turn green—see, there you go.”

The panel lights up when Purple finishes the last slider, stepping back and looking up at the tree. It looks strange, here in the dark, cold concrete.

“You said canisters too, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s just around the corner.” Black turns into a smaller room. “They’re not too heavy, but if you need help, I gotcha.”

“In here?”

“Yeah, just like that. Push it right up against the valve until you hear it give.”

“How do I know when it’s done?”

“It shuts off automatically once the tank reaches the right pressure.”

“Was that it?”

“Yeah, so go ahead and pull it out—I’ll take that, thank you, it just goes over here—and you get the next one.”

“Just two?”

“Just two.”

Black takes the other canister and sets it on the shelf. “Is that everything?”

“No, I’ve got one more in…Comms, it looks like?”

“Alright. That’s out through here.” Black gestures back out of the room. “Let me show you where the boiler room is in case you have one of those.”

Down at the other end of Oxygen is a small, dark room. Two massive wheels connect to pipes running through it. They look old, rusted. Hard to turn.

“You shouldn’t have anything down here,” Blake muses, knocking on the wall, “but in case you do, here it is.”

“Do they use the lava to heat the water?”

Black glances down at them. “Yeah, actually, they do. I can show you that too.”

“Okay.”

“C’mon, let’s get you to Comms and finish that last task.”

“Do we have to go outside again?”

“Yes, Purple, we have to go outside.”

“Is it far?”

Black chuckles. “No, it’s not far.”

They pass Weapons on the way, turning up into a small room where a monitor sits.

“What task?”

“Reboot WiFi.”

“Oh, that one takes a while,” Black sighs, nodding toward a small panel on the wall. “Just flip the power lever down and shut the system off, it’ll give you a countdown when you can reboot.”

Purple does, watching the clock start to count out a minute. They lean against the wall, watching Black do the same folding their arms and keeping their eyes on the door.

Black is _here._ Black is still here.

“Black?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

They tilt their head. “You just did, didn’t you?”

“…can I ask you another after this one, then?”

“Of course, babe, you don’t need permission to ask me a question.”

Purple taps their fingers against the keys. “…how do you know how to do all these tasks? I thought—one of the ways we were supposed to look out for—well, um… _you_ is that you would fake tasks.”

Black is quiet for a moment, then they shift. “Some of them I figured out by trial and error. Some of them I watched someone else do. And some of them…someone walked me through it, step by step.”

“Like what you just did for me?”

“Like what I just did for you.”

“Thank you.”

Black tilts their head. “You’re welcome, Purple.”

The panel on the wall beeps. Purple pushes the lever and the system blinks back online.

“That’s it.”

“Good job.” Black pushes off the wall. “Come on, we’re almost finished with the tour.”

Outside, Black stops them and points up to a spot on the wall.

“See that bump? That’s a camera.”

Purple squints. “I see it. How do we—how can you tell when it’s on?”

“There’ll be a little red light that blinks.”

“Is that how you knew I was watching on the Skeld.”

“Yes.”

They continue back around to the office door. Black ducks inside and Purple goes to follow when they see something in the corner, tucked away.

“Purple?” Black comes back to the door. “Purple, where are you…”

They follow Purple’s gaze to the corner, where a pile of snow has gathered. In the middle, there are two large lumps of snow.

“I don’t know what those are,” Black says, “they’ve been here as long as I can remember.”

“They’re snowmen,” Purple says softly, walking forward and resting their hand on the top of one of their heads, “look…it’s the suits.”

There’s a soft crunching as Black comes to join them.

“Here’s the helmet,” they say, running their hand over the curved head of the snowman, “and here’s the pack, see?”

They point to a squarish lump on the back of the snowman.

“Actually, it’s supposed to be…here.”

Purple kneels down, the snow crunching under their weight, using their gloved hands to carve out a space between the bottom of the pack and the rest of the snow on the ground. The snow where the body of the snowman and the pack are is harder, iced over with a layer of thick, rough chunks that catch on the textured pads of Purple’s gloves. They follow the curves, brushing away the loose snow.

“There,” they murmur, standing up and brushing the snow off themselves, “that’s better.”

They glance over their shoulder to see Black looking at them, their head tilted, snow landing on their helmet.

“I see it now,” Black says quietly, “but what is it for?”

“The snowman?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not really… _for_ anything. It’s just fun to make one.” Purple scrunches up their nose. “At least when no one decides to turn it into a snowball fight instead.”

“A…snowball fight?”

“Yeah. You, um, roll the snow into balls and throw them at each other.”

“And this is _also_ for fun?”

Purple huffs. “Allegedly. If your aim is not awful and you can dodge. Or you enjoy being hit with snowballs.”

Black chuckles. “I take it you are none of the above?”

“No, afraid not.”

“Mm.” After a moment, they reach forward. “You’ve got some snow on your helmet, may I…?”

They gently brush Purple’s faceplate clean.

“There…much better.”

Purple looks up at Black. They tilt their head.

“Something wrong?”

“No, no, just…just looking.” They follow a slow string of snowflakes as they wind their way down from the sky. “Haven’t seen snow in a while.”

They stand there for a moment, watching the snow fall. Purple turns their head to follow a breeze, catching sight of a strange antenna-type thing sticking up from the ground. “What is _that?_ ”

“That’s a weather node. You may need to calibrate those.”

“Is that…simple?”

“From what I’ve heard, about as simple as calibrating the distributors.”

“So _annoying.”_

Black chuckles. “So it would seem.” They turn back to the buildings. “We’re almost finished.”

Purple spares one more glance at the snowmen before following Black inside. They walk through the office, back past the conference room, and head out of another door towards something very, _very_ bright.

“You’ll have two different tasks where you have to record a temperature,” Black explains, “and one of them we passed in the library. The other one is out here.”

Black walks out onto a metal walkway, leading toward the glowing thing. Purple walks next to them, only to stop suddenly when the floor just…disappears.

“Whoa!”

“Easy, easy,” Black hushes, letting Purple grab their arm, “you’re alright.”

“There’s just an _open_ pit into lava?”

“Yes.”

“W-why?”

Black grows quiet, reaching up to gently take hold of Purple’s hand.

“The same reason there’s an airlock on the Skeld.”

Despite the burning heat threatening to sear their suit, Purple suddenly feels very, _very_ cold.

“Let’s go back?”

Black hums, still keeping hold of their arm and walking them back along the walkway. Purple doesn’t trust themselves to breathe until they’re back in the office.

“The crew quarters are back downstairs,” Black says, letting them go, “unless you want to see anything else up here?”

“…I can always see it tomorrow, can’t I?”

“Yes,” Black says warmly, “you can. Come on, let’s get you some rest.”

The next day is a little less gray. The corridors are dark purple, actually. The snow has a little bit of black in it from the ash. Black stays next to them as they walk through decontamination, letting them hold onto their arm if they get startled by the loud hissing. There are more of the holes. One of them is right under a download panel, tucked away in the bathroom.

“It’s okay,” Black says softly, their arm around Purple’s, “I gotcha. I won’t let you fall.”

The download can’t go fast enough.

The day after that, they finally get to look through the telescope. Black just chuckles and shakes their head when they barely wait for them at the top of the ramp, darting off into the snow and around the base until they can press their helmet up against the eyepiece.

The vast expanse of the sky stretches out in front of them. So large, so dark, so _full._ Full of light, of spinning planets, far, _far_ away, of cosmic entities that look like wondrous, ethereal beings in the sky.

“You’re not looking for the calibration target, are you?”

“I’m looking, I’m looking, I just—I gotta find it!”

“Mm,” Black hums, leaning against the wall, “and you don’t seem particularly frustrated that it’s taking you a while.”

“I’ve got no frame of reference, I have to glass everywhere before I can—oh, there it is.”

The telescope _clicks_ into place.

Every day, it gets a little less gray as the fear starts to sharpen again. Polus is _wonderful,_ at least…what little of Polus they can see. But they don’t know what’s going to happen.

A transport is supposed to arrive from MIRAHQ. They’re supposed to get on it. And then what?

There’s another thing; Black is the only person they really _see_ during their stay on Polus. Blue had been the one to come and take care of them when they first arrived, but they hadn’t seen Blue since. They knew Pink had been here, they’d been the one to take Black for quarantine. And…

They’d been in Electrical, doing a download. Black had been in the office, checking why the download from Oxygen hadn’t gone through. They’d heard footsteps behind them.

“I’m not having any trouble downloading, I think it might be an upload problem.”

“How interesting.”

Purple freezes.

That’s not Black.

They turn around slowly, seeing someone in a red suit standing near the doorway. They take a step into the room.

“Oh! Sorry,” Purple says quickly, “I thought you were someone else. Um, hello! My name is Purple, it’s nice to meet you.”

Red doesn’t say anything. Instead, they keep walking closer, looking Purple up and down.

“Do you need to get to the download panel?”

“No.”

Purple falls silent, watching as Red gets closer and closer. They stop an inch away.

They aren’t as tall as Purple’s Red had been. They’re closer to Purple in height, actually. But the look they’re getting even _through_ the two helmets is enough for Purple to feel _tiny._

They feel Red’s gaze move up and down the length of them.

“…interesting.”

The download panel beeps behind them.

“You shouldn’t have any upload problems,” Red says as they turn and disappear down the corridor.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

“Purple? Purple, are you in there?”

Black bursts through the door, rushing to Purple’s side. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Purple says, still staring in the direction where Red vanished, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Black says, following their gaze, “come on, let’s…let’s get your tasks finished.”

So there’s Blue, Pink, and Red.

Purple’s not sure how many more.

_If_ there are any more.

The gray fizzles out into a dull whine, replaced by a newfound fear. It’s not quite the fear they had when they were _coming_ to Polus, but it’s close. Black clearly picks up on it as the week goes on, sticking close to Purple’s side and guarding them closely. But aside from watching the doors and keeping a grip on Purple’s arm, there’s not much they can do.

Not until they hear the news from Red after a week of tasks.

“There’s a transport ship to take you to MIRAHQ docking in a few hours,” Red says as Black and Purple come up the ramp to the surface, “prepare yourselves.”

Purple gulps. Time’s up.

Surveillance on the Skeld is practically nonexistent. The ship is so small it’s hardly worth it. One set of cameras, easily bypassed, and there was no one on board to ask questions.

Polus has been practically a ghost town. No one except Purple, Black, and occasional glimpses of the others. Purple’s in a completely new space and Black is more on edge than they’ve ever seen, but not much could happen at a mostly deserted base.

But a ship? Straight to MIRAHQ? That’s a fresh crew with keen eyes and more of a motive to catch an Impostor. That’s a whole new group of people that are _already_ going to be suspicious of them, especially after they hear what happened to the Skeld.

Purple’s fear only heightens when they catch a glimpse of _what_ ship is going to be taking them to MIRAHQ. Because it’s not a cargo ship, like the Skeld, even a larger one, nor is it a mining vessel, sent to refuel.

It’s a shuttle. A _transport_ ship. A souped-up, high-speed, sleek ship designed to make fast trips between stations. And judging by the crest adorning its nose, it’s only a few ticks off of being a human military ship.

That means no tasks. No crew interactions. No _nothing._

_What do they want?_

_Why do they want me—us—back at MIRAHQ so badly?_

_Are they angry?_

_Am I in trouble?_

_What’s going to happen to Black?_

In the midst of all this worry, Purple can be forgiven for missing the pointed look Red gives Black, as well as the solemn nod that Black returns.

Blue and Pink come to see them off, Pink simply staring at Black as Blue gives Purple the shoebox.

“They’ve loaded up most of your cargo from the Skeld,” Blue says quietly, “so all your personal belongings should be on there already, yours and Black’s, but I wanted to make sure to give this back to you.”

Purple takes the shoebox back, staring at the lid.

“You should do it,” Blue murmurs, “I know it’s been hard, kid, but it’s almost over now. And I think they, uh…I think the families’ll want to thank you in person.”

Purple nods.

“Hey,” Blue says softly, lightly punching their shoulder, “chin up, kid. You’re almost done now, it’s just an easy ride back to MIRA, yeah?”

Purple looks up. “…thank you, Blue.”

“No need to thank me, we’re just doing our jobs, yeah?” Blue gives them a nod. “You’re a good kid, Purple. Now git.”

They turn as Black joins them on the ramp. They begin the long, slow walk up into the belly of the ship. It closes behind them with a _thud._

A crewmate in a gray suit approaches them, nods, and gestures for them to follow. They move deeper into the ship, past doors and doors, and more doors. The crewmate opens one and gestures inside.

“Thank you,” Purple says as they nod.

“MIRAHQ in two days.”

“Two _days?”_

“We know how to move when we need to.”

“…thank you.”

They nod briskly as the door slides shut.

Purple looks around. It’s a standard traveling compartment, with a main area of a couch and a table, with two doors on either side. They peek their head inside to see a bed, a small chest, and a bathroom attached. They can already see a bag—their bag—sitting neatly on top of the bed.

They walk over to the chest and gingerly set the shoebox down on top. After a moment, they carefully lift the lid to peek inside.

The IDs and badges are still there, nestled in the tissue, with the edition of a small pin in the corner. Green’s.

Purple closes the lid and sighs.

Something rustles in the main room. They look and see Black sitting down on the couch, their hands on their knees, their back straight as a rod.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Purple glances at the fridge. They’re not particularly hungry either.

“Two days…that’s fast.” Black doesn’t reply. “Why do you think they sent us on this ship?”

“I don’t know.”

They pause. Black’s voice, while still as smooth and low as ever, is clipped now, sharper. They frown, looking at Black again.

Their back is so straight it’s not even touching the couch. Their hands are too light on their knees. Their head is fixed on the door.

Oh.

_Oh._

Stupid, stupid Purple.

Black is an Impostor.

Black is on a _human shuttle._

Black is on a _human_ shuttle heading for _MIRAHQ._

Black is an Impostor, on a _human_ shuttle, heading for _MIRAHQ,_ and will arrive in _two days._

Of _course_ Black is scared.

Oh god, _Black_ is scared.

Okay, okay. They can deal with this. They can—they’ll figure something out.

They glance around and dive for their bag, sifting through the contents. No, no, no, no…there!

Purple walks carefully back into the living room, clutching their book of stories.

  
“May I sit with you, please?”

Black jerks their head.

“Thank you.”

They sit down slowly, far enough away that they aren’t touching. They set the book carefully down in their lap and reach up to take their helmet off.

_Click. Click. Hissss._

Their helmet sits on the floor with a _clunk._ Purple reaches down and slowly opens the book, the pages muttering down as they stick to the cover.

“May I read something?”

There’s a moment of quiet. Purple waits patiently, looking at the table of contents.

“…if you want.”

“Thank you.” They run their finger down the table until they reach the one they want. “ _‘Three Billy Goats Gruff.’_ ”

They turn to the page, opening the book to a scene of a green meadow with rocks dotted across the landscape in the shadow of a large, green mountain.

“ _‘There were once three Billy Goats who lived in a meadow at the foot of a mountain, and their last name was Gruff. There was the Big Billy Goat Gruff, and the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, and the Little Billy Goat Gruff. They all three jumped about among the rocks in the meadow and ate what grass they could find, but it wasn’t very much.’_ ”

The ship hums in the background.

“ _‘One day, the Littlest Billy Goat Gruff looked up at the high mountain and thought: ‘It looks as if there’s a great deal of grass up there! If I just run up there, all by myself, I’ll be able to eat all the grass I want and I’ll grow up to be as big as anybody!’ So the Little Billy Goat Gruff ran off without telling his brothers a word, toward the mountain. He ran tip-tip-tip until at last, he came to a wide river, with a bridge over it.’_ ”

Purple turns the page, to a picture of a rickety bridge and a troll crouched underneath.

“ _‘Now, the Little Billy Goat Gruff did not know this, but underneath the bridge, there lived a troll. A great big troll who loved to eat whatever crossed his bridge. So, as the Little Billy Goat Gruff went tip-tip-tip over his bridge, the troll cried out: ‘who is that tipping over my bridge?’_ ”

Purple puts on a high voice for the Little Billy Goat Gruff.

“ _‘It is only I, the Little Billy Goat Gruff,’ said the Billy Goat in his very small voice, ‘and I am going to the meadow to make myself grow as big as anybody!’_

_‘No, you’re not,’ said the troll, ‘because I’m going to come and gobble you up!’_

_‘Oh, but please,’ said the Little Billy Goat Gruff, ‘I am only the littlest Billy Goat Gruff! I have a brother who is much bigger than me and will make a much better meal for you!’_

_‘Hmm,’ said the troll, ‘I would like to eat something larger than the littlest Billy Goat Gruff.’_

_‘Oh, thank you, Mr. Troll,’ said the Little Billy Goat Gruff, and off he went, tip-tip-tip, up the mountain.’”_

Purple turns the page. Beside them, Black is silent. They swallow and keep going.

“ _‘Then the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff decided he was going to go up to the mountain too. ‘Why, if I can go and eat as much grass as I want, I’ll grow up to be as big as anybody!’ So off he went, trap-trap-trap, to the same bridge.’_ ”

They shift to ease a cramp in their leg.

“ _‘Now, when the troll heard that trap-trap-trap across the bridge, he yelled: ‘who is that trapping across my bridge?’_

_‘Why, it is me, the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff,’ said the Billy Goat in his medium-sized voice, ‘and I am going up to the mountain to grow as big as anybody!’_

_‘No, you’re not,’ said the troll, ‘because I’m going to come and gobble you up!’  
_

_‘Oh, but please,’ said the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, ‘I am only the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff! I have a brother who is much bigger than me and will make an even better meal for you!’_

_‘Hmm,’ said the troll, for he has already gone without eating one Billy Goat Gruff, ‘I am hungry, but I would like to eat the biggest Billy Goat.’_

_‘Oh, thank you, Mr. Troll,’ said the Middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, and off he went, trap-trap-trap, up the mountain.’”_

Purple turns the page again. The biggest goat cranes his head to look up the mountain.

_“’Now, the Big Billy Goat Gruff was wondering where his brothers had gone. He looks up the mountain and thinks: ‘those two have probably gone to eat all the grass they want so they can grow up to be as big as anybody. But if I go up there and eat all the grass I want, then I’ll stay as big as anybody!’ So off he went, thud-thud-thud, up to the same bridge.’”_

They hear a quiet rustle from beside them. They take a deep breath.

_“’Now, when the Big Billy Goat Gruff went across the bridge, he was so big that the bridge creaked and groaned under his weight. And the troll, who is very, very hungry by this point, yells: ‘who is that making my bridge creak and groan?’”_

Purple hesitates, then puts on the _deepest_ voice they can for the Big Billy Goat Gruff. Which is, let’s be honest, not that deep. They try.

_“’It is I, the Big Billy Goat Gruff,’ said the Billy Goat, ‘and I am going up the mountain to eat all the grass.’_

_‘Aha!’ Cried the troll, leaping up, ‘you are the goat I have been waiting for! I am going to gobble you up!’_

_‘Well come and try,’ cried the Big Billy Goat Gruff, ‘because I have two horns and four hooves and two brothers!’”_

Purple turns the page.

_“‘And that troll leapt up onto the bridge and the Big Billy Goat hooked his big horns under that troll and tossed him up…up…up and over the side of the bridge! And that troll fell down…down…down into the wide river.’_

_“’And so the Big Billy Goat Gruff went thud-thud-thud over the bridge and up the mountain to join his brothers, and they all ate so much grass that no one could tell which Billy Goat Gruff was which. Snip, snap, snout, this tale’s told out.’”_

They reach the end of the story and pause, still on the last image of the three goats happy on the side of the mountain. The ship’s engines hum far away. They risk a glance over toward where Black is.

Black is still sitting up ramrod straight, their hands on the legs, boots firmly planted on the floor. Purple risks glancing higher and sees that a little bit of the tension has gone out of their shoulders.

“…may I read another?”

Silence. Then…

“…what’s a troll?”

Purple blinks. “Sorry?”

“In the story,” Black says quietly, “you—I don’t know what a troll is.”

“Oh. It’s a, um, fairy tale creature. They’re these big hairy monsters that like to live in caves or under bridges.” They page back through the story to find a good picture. “Here.”

They hold the book out so Black can see. Black tilts their head, but with the angle they’re at, they can’t quite see right.

“Here, um…may I come sit a little closer?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Purple scoots along the couch until they can hold the book open between them and Black can see. “That’s the troll.”

Black stares down wordlessly.

“Um…normally they’re very hungry in stories, where all they want is food. They, um, normally end with the troll getting thrown away like in this one or fed something else. But before that, their hunger can be kind of…destructive…”

Purple trails off as they realize what they’re saying.

This may have not been the best choice of story. For either of them.

“Uh—“ they quickly go back to paging through the book— “I’ve got more stories in here that don’t have any trolls, let me look…”

The book lands on a page with a vast, sprawling desert.

“Oh, here’s a good one. It’s part of a larger collection of stories called _‘The Thousand and One Nights.’_ ”

They glance at the space between them on the couch.

“If…if you want, I can come a little closer, and then you can see while I read?”

“…yes.”

“Thank you.”

Purple scoots closer, laying the book on their lap and holding it open so Black can see.

As Purple reads the story of the Sultan that terrified the people of his kingdom and Scheherazade’s clever plan to put an end to his cruelty, deserts, and jewels and people come to life on the pages. Their voice stops sounding like it’s coming from _them,_ the reading less and less a voluntary action. Instead, the story spills into the air between them, drawn forth to embody the characters as Scheherazade speaks with her sister. The words fill the room.

Black sits quietly, without making a sound. But every now and then, Purple can feel them shift just a little bit closer.

Purple turns the page, revealing a picture of a lavish bed with the Sultan atop it, the two sisters crouched at the foot.

“ _’The Sultan consented to Scheherazade’s petition and Dinarzade was sent for. An hour before daybreak Dinarzade awoke, and exclaimed, as she had promised, ‘My dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell me I pray you before the sun rises, one of your charming stories. It is the last time that I shall have the pleasure of hearing you.’ Scheherazade did not answer her sister, but turned to the Sultan. ‘Will your highness permit me to do as my sister asks?’ said she._

_‘Willingly,’ he answered. So Scheherazade began.’”_

“That’s…it?” Black shifts as Purple closes the book. “There’s no ending?”

“That is the ending. It’s the first part of a larger collection of stories.” They cradle the book in their lap. “Every night, she tells a story, but doesn’t finish it so the Sultan will keep her alive until she does.”

“And it…works?”

“It does. For a thousand and one nights.”

Black’s shoulder moves. “That’s not very believable.”

Purple shrugs, their eyes growing a little heavy. “Humans are creative, storytelling beings. We can’t get enough of them. We love stories. We tell them and retell them until they’re brand new stories of their own.”

The book in their lap grows warm under their hands.

“We raise our children on them,” they continue, “we make friends through them, we…we _live_ them. The best we can. Even when we’re…so much _less_ than them.”

They take a deep breath, their eyes beginning to slip closed, their tongue beginning to loosen as exhaustion weaves through them.

“We’re…greedy, and selfish, and ignorant, and we…have a tendency to shoot first, ask questions later.” They shake their head slowly. “We…our _own_ history is bloody and ugly and we are far from being paragons of anything other than destruction.”

They take a deep breath.

“But we can be more than that. We _have_ been more than that. We flung ourselves to the stars because we were lonely, because we wanted to build something better. We can be more than we are because we _know_ what we are. Perhaps the thing that _makes_ us the most human is our capacity to care. And yes, sometimes that care gets misplaced but it’s always _there._ ”

As they talk, their head slowly falls onto Black’s shoulder.

“We’re all stories in the end,” they mumble, “we just…try to make them _good_ ones.”

The hum of the engines is quiet. Black doesn’t move. Purple’s head lies on their shoulder, warm.

Then slowly, so slowly, something comes to rest on top.

It’s a head. Not a helmet, but a head.

“Well then,” Black murmurs, “maybe you’ll read me another one tomorrow.”

They fall asleep like that, on the couch, Purple’s book of stories cradled in their lap.

* * *

“You’re next,” the crewmate calls, knocking lightly on their door, “MIRAHQ in one hour.”

“Thank you!”

Next to them, Black stiffens. Purple glances over to see Black staring out the window, watching the station approach. Purple swallows. They didn’t—this must be—

“Hey,” Purple calls softly, trying to get Black’s attention, “it’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

Black doesn’t move. They stare out the window.

“…have you been here before?”

“Yes.”

Right. This is where the Skeld had _boarded._ Black’s probably been here more times than Purple can count.

“That was a silly question,” Purple mumbles, “sorry.”

Black takes a deep breath. “No, Purple, it’s alright.”

“I should be the one reassuring _you._ ”

They turn to look. “ _Should_ you be, though?”

“…fair enough.”

Black returns to looking out the window. Purple looks too.

MIRAHQ rises high above the clouds, reaching toward the sky. They can see other transports flying around, two larger cruisers overhead. Passenger ships? Or cargo ships?

Or neither?

“I don’t know what they want,” Purple mumbles after a moment of watching, “or why they sent this fast ship for us.”

“I don’t know either.” Black looks down, turning a gloved hand over in their lap. “You know, I think I understand a bit more about how not-knowing is so…much.”

Purple reaches out, waiting.

After a moment, Black takes their hand.

“…thank you.”

“Of course.”

The fear in Purple’s chest keeps buzzing as they dock, watching the mess of MIRAHQ start to coalesce around their ship. The crewmate returns to get them, saying they can leave their belongings, they’ll be transported separately to crew quarters onboard the station.

“Wait—how will we know where to go?”

“Your CO will tell you.”

“That doesn’t answer _anything,”_ Purple mumbles as they start walking off the ship.

Immediately, they can _feel_ Black straighten next to them, their strides growing longer, more powerful, head swiveling around. Purple hustles to keep up, dodging dollies full of cargo and apologizing for bumping into _so_ many people. Black is already halfway across the bay.

“B-Black, wait! You’re faster than I am!”

Without looking, Black reaches back and Purple grabs their sleeve, hanging on as the crowd parts in front of Black.

Purple can’t say they blame them.

The corridor outside is a little less crowded but Purple keeps a tight grip on Black’s suit. They turn one corner, then another, then another.

“How do you know where we’re _going,_ ” Purple whispers, “it’s so—“

“We’re going to the recruitment desk,” Black replies shortly, as a dolly swerves out of the way in front of them, “that’s where we’ll find whoever summoned us.”

“Okay, but—ah!” Purple stumbles into a wall as someone else butts in front of them. “Can we just—ouch! Sorry!— _Black!_ ”

“What?”

“Can we just—oh, god— _stop!”_

Purple pulls Black’s sleeve _hard,_ digging their heels into the ground and trying to pull Black into a little alcove off the corridor. Black _rounds_ on them.

“ _What?_ ”

They swallow. “ _Stop._ I get that this is—a huge _fucking_ mess and I have _no_ idea what’s going on either but you _have_ to slow down. Storming through the halls like that isn’t going to help anything get better.”

Black stares down at them.

“I’m scared too,” Purple says, lowering their voice, “and I know that might…not mean much to you but you’re not…you’re not alone, okay? I’m here too.”

They rub their arm a little.

“…and if you keep walking that fast I’m not gonna be able to keep up with you.”

There’s a pause as another dolly blares past them. Then Black slowly reaches out to cover Purple’s shoulder.

“I didn’t hurt you,” they mutter, “did I?”

“No, no, I’m…I’m fine. Just…I’m short, okay? One of your steps is like… _four_ of mine.”

“…you _are_ quite short.”

“Hey!”

“Even for a juvenile.”

Purple swats half-heartedly at Black’s shoulder. “Just because _you’re_ a giant doesn’t mean I’m _tiny._ ”

Black chuckles, holding out their hand. “Come on, I won’t walk so fast.”

They guide Purple the rest of the way through the halls, toward the bustling hub of the recruitment desk.

“Wait here,” Black murmurs, settling them by a column, “I’m going to go look at which ships are in dock. That might give us a clue.”

“Okay.”

Purple barely has time to blink before Black vanishes into the crowd. They wrap their arms around their waist and lean against the wall.

This is _crazy._

They’re back on MIRAHQ, where they’re not supposed to be for at _least_ another three months, their crew is _dead,_ their ship is on _Polus,_ and now they’re here with an _Impostor_ and they’re…helping them? Just along for the ride? Still a hostage? And now they’re supposed to meet with someone else and…what? Do the whole thing all over again? Or pretend that none of this ever happened?

Oh, _no,_ they forgot the shoebox!

Purple whirls around, eyes darting back and forth across the sprawling hub but it’s no use. Even if they somehow managed to find exactly which tunnel they came in through, they have _no_ chance of getting back through all the twists and turns to the docking bay. They’re stuck here.

“You look lost.”

Purple turns quickly, an apology already on their lips when they freeze.

“… _Captain?”_

The person in front of them chuckles, taking a step forward out of the bustling flow of people. “You haven’t had to call me that for a while, Purple.”

“I—I know, but—sir, what are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” Yellow says, “interesting circumstances.”

Purple’s mouth runs dry. “Are…are _you_ who summoned us?”

“Oh, I don’t know about _that,_ ” Yellow says, tilting their head, “but I’d be lying if I thought the two were unrelated.”

“Ah, Yellow. You’ve found them, then?”

Yellow turns as another person in a lime suit walks up to them. Purple frowns. They don’t—they’re not someone they’ve seen before.

“Lime, this is Purple,” Yellow introduces, “Purple, this is Lime.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Purple says quickly, holding out their hand for Lime to take.

Lime does, but they don’t shake. Instead, Purple suppresses a shudder as they _feel_ Lime’s gaze scan them up and down. Out of the corner of their eye, they see Yellow glance back and forth between them.

“Purple used to serve onboard the Ashton under my command,” Yellow says firmly, “as a medical officer. Don’t let their age fool you; they’re _more_ than qualified.”

“Medical officer,” Lime hums, “interesting. That was not included in the reports.”

“Reports?”

Black _materializes_ behind Lime.

Purple startles.

“Ah,” Lime says, swiftly letting go of Purple’s hand and turning around, “ _there_ you are.”

Black says nothing.

“You must be Lime’s contact,” Yellow says smoothly, holding out their own hand, “it’s good to meet you. I’m Yellow.”

They take Yellow’s hand slowly. “Black.”

“We will see you later,” Lime says, already turning away, “we have much to discuss.”

Yellow nods as Lime starts to lead Black off into the distance. Black looks between Yellow and Purple.

“Is Purple not coming?”

“No.”

Black stands stubborn. “Purple?”

“You can go,” Purple says quickly, glancing at Yellow, “I’m—I’ll be okay.”

Black looks at Yellow.

“This is—they’re my former Captain,” Purple says, “I’ll be alright.”

Black gives Yellow a look that Purple can’t decipher, but they must come to some sort of agreement because Yellow nods once and Black turns to leave with Lime. This time, Purple keeps their eyes on them as long as they can as they vanish into the sea of MIRAHQ.

“Is—“ Purple swallows heavily. “Are they going to be alright?”

Yellow looks at them and tilts their head. “Yeah, Purple, they’re gonna be alright, of course they will.”

Purple can’t look away from where they were.

“Hey,” Yellow calls gently, bumping Purple’s shoulder, “from what I’ve heard, you’ve had quite the ride, huh?”

“…you could say that, sir.”

They glance around. “Come on, then. Let’s go somewhere a little less hectic, yeah?”

“Aren’t I—I’ve been told I’m supposed to go to a meeting, sir.”

“That’s right, you are,” Yellow nods, “but that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Given that it’s with me,” they say, “yeah, Purple, it’s not until tomorrow.”

“O-oh.” Purple shakes themselves and stands up properly. “My apologies, sir, I was not briefed on the situation, nor did I understand where to ask any questions.”

“No harm done,” Yellow waves them off, “come on, let’s get you something to eat. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are too?”

“…a little, sir.”

Yellow chuckles. “Transport food is never that good, is it?”

“I’ve never been on a transport ship before, sir.”

“No? Well, I’ll tell you a secret, then.” As they start walking across the hub to Purple has no _idea_ where, Yellow bends closer to mutter conspiratorially in their ear. “They’re all as boring as you think they are.”

Purple’s shoulders slump. “Oh, good, it’s not just me.”

“No, I can promise it’s not just you. I swear, I’ve gotten more grey hairs from pacing up and down those hallways than anytime I’ve been on my own ship.”

“There’s nothing to _do,_ like…ever.”

“No tasks, no comms, the crew doesn’t even like you wandering around the ship. There’s never consistent enough service to stream or read anything.”

Purple nods, ducking behind Yellow as another dolly goes past. Yellow waits for them to catch up again.

“I had my book,” Purple says quietly, “but…even that was limited.”

“Ah, yes, your book of stories.” Yellow’s voice grows warmer as they lightly knock their elbow against Purple’s. “Have you memorized all of them yet?”

Their _face_ grows warmer at the gentle tease. “ _No,_ sir…not yet.”

Yellow chuckles. “My mistake. That was your poetry book, hmm?”

“ _That_ was only because Commander Pink insisted on doing the slam poetry readings in the middle of the graveyard shift.”

“Ah, yes, when they forgot they left comms to the bridge on.”

“Oh my _god,_ I forgot about that.”

“Please, it was a welcome distraction from trying to recalibrate the course heading for the fifth hour in a row.” Yellow glances over at them. “I’m glad you had your book with you. Which stories did you manage to read this time?”

“Um, _‘Three Bully Goats Gruff,’_ the prologue to _‘The Thousand and One Arabian Nights,’_ and _‘Cassava Mouse._ ’”

“I always liked that one,” Yellow murmurs as they turn another corner, “made the whole ship feel a little cozier.”

“…I’m glad you liked it, sir.”

They turn into the cafeteria, which is _truly_ massive compared to the one from the Skeld. There’s an entire food court in the base of MIRAHQ, apparently, and more tables than Purple can count.

“Don’t worry,” Yellow says when they pause in the doorway, “we won’t stop here. I know, it can get a bit much, even for me. There’s a quieter place to sit just around the corner.”

“…okay.” Purple falls back into step with them as they start around the bend. “What are we having, sir?”

“Well,” Yellow says slowly, turning to Purple, “I _did_ hear something about a milkshake.”

“I _knew_ that Sentry’s voice sounded familiar.”

“Oh, as soon as they rang off, I got a message from the Sentry tower saying they’d talked to you,” Yellow chuckles, “and that I’d better be sure to get my ass back to MIRA on time so all three of us could get milkshakes.”

“…are they still here, sir?”

“No,” Yellow says quietly, “they’re off-duty right now. They’re scheduled to come back for your initial return date.”

Oh.

Something icy settles in the pit of Purple’s stomach, making their gut twist into knots. MIRAHQ seems to press on them suddenly, making the air in their suit grow clammy. Their legs tingle.

“…I don’t think I’d like a milkshake right now, sir,” they say quietly.

Yellow tilts their head. “Are you sure, Purple? You look like you could use one.”

They shake their head firmly. “No, sir.”

Yellow gives them a quick look. They move like they’re about to say something but change their mind.

“Well, what else would you like?”

“I’m not sure I’m that hungry right now, sir.”

“It’s my treat, Purple, no worries.”

“Really sir, I’m—I’m fine.”

Yellow moves them a little out of the hustle of people getting food. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“An hour before we landed, sir, on the shuttle.”

“A snack then,” Yellow says, “just to get _something_ in you, hmm?”

…yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

“What was that sandwich place you talked about, sir?”

“Right this way.”

They collect their sandwiches and Yellow leads them around the corner to a smaller group of tables by the window. There are only a few other people here, all seated closer to the main entrance of the cafeteria. Yellow pulls out a chair at the corner table and sits. They take off their helmet and set it aside.

Purple’s hands falter on their own chair.

It’s…it’s them. It’s their Captain. Well, not anymore, but…it’s still them.

Yellow glances up at them when they don’t sit down right away. They raise an eyebrow. Their mouth curls up in a smile as they run their hand through their hair.

“Grayer than you remember?”

“No! No, that’s not…it’s just…” Purple’s stomach settles a little bit. “…it’s good to see you again, sir.”

“It’s good to see you too, Purple,” Yellow says, before nodding at the chair. “These are best fresh, don’t want them to get soggy.”

Purple sits, taking off their own helmet and carefully unwrapping their sandwich. They take a bite, trying their best to get most of the bits that drop onto the wrapper, not the table.

“Oh, wow.”

“Right?” Yellow chuckles. “Dig in, Purple.”

Purple eats, looking out the window. The sun is still up, but it’s setting, going down behind the thick cover of clouds. Transport ships buzz around the base of the tower, ferrying people to different levels or to the big cruisers docked in orbit. The sky is a pale blue, turning a pale orange near the clouds. They wrap the trash up in the paper and set it carefully in their lap to be thrown out.

“Wow.”

Purple looks over to see Yellow still has half their sandwich left.

“…sorry.”

“No, no,” Yellow says, shifting in their seat, “don’t be sorry. You look like you needed it. Don’t mind this old folk, we eat slowly.”

“You mean you eat at a _reasonable_ pace.”

“You said it, not me.”

Purple looks back out the window, staring down at the clouds. They look so…white. Flat, almost, even as the light starts to glint off the tower and onto the clouds. Had they always looked like this?

They don’t realize how long they’ve been quiet until something pokes their arm. They jump, looking over to see Yellow smiling, setting aside the skewer.

“Sorry,” Purple says quickly, “did you say something?”

“No worries,” Yellow says, “if you were seeing anything interesting out there.”

“Not really, just…the transport ships.”

“Mm.” Yellow glances out too. “Reminds me of my shuttle days.”

Purple frowns. “You were a shuttle pilot, sir?”

“That’s how I got started.” They take the last bite of their sandwich, wrapping up their trash too and holding their hand out for Purple’s.

“Thank you, sir.”

Yellow nods, getting up to toss the paper balls in the bin, sitting back down with a sigh, and looking out the window. “They look so small from up here, don’t they?”

“I don’t—I have no frame of reference for how big they actually are.”

“Those ones aren’t that big. Probably about the size of the Ashton’s dropship.”

“What are they for, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?”

“Of course I don’t mind, though I’m not sure.” Yellow squints. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re resource transports. Short runs to the surface and back.”

“Like, for the labs?”

“Or other services onboard the station.” Yellow nods back toward the food court. “Probably where they get most of their stuff from.”

“Can they be…made to do longer runs?”

Yellow gives them a look, brows furrowed. “Come again?”

“Sorry,” Purple says, still staring at the ships, “it’s just that the, um, Captain Blue, they—the Skeld is— _was_ an older ship. It kind of looked like those do, just…bigger.”

Yellow glances down, then back to Purple. “I’m sure they’re a similar model or class,” they say finally, “but I don’t think _those_ ships could make any trips outside of an atmosphere.”

They shift in the chair.

“Though I’m not sure who would’ve assigned a ship like that, even for a short run. That model’s not exactly top-of-the-line anymore.”

“It was _their_ ship,” Purple murmurs, “they owned it.”

The Skeld wasn’t MIRAHQ-made, nor was it from another base. The Skeld was _Blue’s,_ inside and out.

And now it sat abandoned in the Polus outpost, with no one there to look after it. All that’s left of Blue is—

“Hey,” Yellow calls softly when Purple bites back a curse, “hey, hey.”

Purple bites their lip, shaking their head and reaching for their helmet. “There’s something I need to do.”

“Okay,” Yellow says instantly, taking their own helmet as Purple hurriedly clicks theirs back into place, “how can I help?”

“There’s something I brought back with me, I need to—where are the crew quarters?”

“This way,” Yellow says as they settle their helmet back into place, nodding toward the exit, “did they give you your room assignment?”

“No, they just—they said—they said my CO would tell me.” Purple looks up at Yellow. “Do…do _you_ know?”

“I don’t,” Yellow says, quickly putting a hand on Purple’s shoulder, “but we’ll go find out.”

“…thank you, sir.”

“And Purple,” Yellow says, holding them still for a moment longer, “I think we can drop the ‘sir’ now.”

“But—“

“I know,” they chuckle, “trying to get you to drop the ‘sir’ is like pulling teeth. But you’re off duty, Purple, and I’m not your superior officer anymore. It’s okay.”

“…okay.”

“Come on, this way. It’s not far.”

They slip easily behind Yellow as they start down the hallway again, down a few levels until they get to the Quarters boards. Yellow stands behind them as they start scanning the rows and rows of text, looking.

“Here,” Yellow says, pointing to the right number, “that’s the assignment. You have your card?”

“Here.”

“Go ahead and scan it, just to confirm you’ve checked in.” Purple swipes their card and the reader turns green. “Good job. I can never do those right on the first try.”

“…practice, I guess.”

“The halls are a little confusing,” Yellow says as they start walking again, “but if you keep track of the signs, you’ll find your way around.”

They step onto another elevator and Yellow presses a button. Purple fiddles with their ID card, rubbing their thumb over their number over and over. The buttons on the elevator take up the whole side panel.

“This place is _huge,_ ” they mumble.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Where…are you…?”

“I’m still on the Ashton,” Yellow says when Purple’s shame chokes off their voice, “the rooms here are a little far from her for my taste.”

Purple looks up at them, shame fading. “The Ashton’s _here?_ ”

“Yeah, Purple, she’s in dock.”

Purple’s hands still on their card. The Ashton is _here._

“Would you like to see her,” Yellow asks softly, “when you’ve got a second?”

“…please?”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to have you onboard again.”

The elevator stops and the doors open. Yellow steps out and looks at the sign.

“This way,” Purple says, pointing to the left, “right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Here.” They scan their card at the reader and the door unlocks.

They rush inside, looking for the shoebox. No, not there…not there…god, how _big_ is this room?

_There._

They spot the shoebox on the corner of the dresser and reach for it, holding their breath as they lift off the lid. _Please let them all be okay, please let them all be okay…_

The badges gleam from where they’re nestled in the tissue, the ID cards without a scratch. Green’s pin sits prettily in the corner, sliding a little into the edge of Orange’s badge.

Purple’s breath leaves them in a rush. They’re all here. They’re all okay.

A soft _clunk_ makes them turn. Yellow sets their helmet on the floor and slowly joins them, their face unreadable as they stare into the box. Some frantic irrational thought that Yellow’s going to be upset at them or find something wrong is quickly brushed away as Yellow rests their fingers on the edge of the box.

“You saved them,” they murmur.

Purple’s throat burns as they look back at the badges. “No,” they say bitterly, “no, I didn’t.”

They cover the badges with the lid.

“We can talk to the Comms people tomorrow,” Yellow says distantly, “see how to go about getting them back to the families.”

They’re going to have to look at them. They’re going to have to look them _in the face_ and tell them their loved ones aren’t coming back. That for some reason _Purple_ survived but they didn’t.

It’s only when Yellow gently places a tissue box in front of them that they realize they’re sniffling again. They bite back a curse and squeeze their eyes shut.

“Now we both know that stuffy helmets are the worst,” comes Yellow’s soft voice.

With shaking fingers, Purple unclasps their helmet and sets it on the floor, reaching for the tissues. Yellow’s hand comes up to gently cup their elbow as they blow their nose.

“You’ve had quite the time, haven’t you, kiddo?”

Purple worries the tissue in their hands. “I’m sorry.”

  
“It’s okay,” Yellow says, thumb stroking soothingly across their suit, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I?” The tissue in their hands tears. “My crew is _dead._ Their ship is abandoned. The only things I have left of them—the only thing their _families_ will get back are these stupid hunks of metal and plastic. And it’s _my fault._ ”

“It’s your fault they died?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Now why on earth do you think that?”

Purple’s tongue freezes to the roof of their mouth. No. No, they can’t—they can’t hurt Black too.

They miss the way Yellow’s mouth tightens.

“You think they’ll be angry,” Yellow says instead, “that it’s you coming back and not them?”

“Shouldn’t they be?”

“Why do you think they should?”

“Because I’m not _them,_ ” Purple bursts out, “I’m _not._ I don’t—I don’t have the experience they do, I’m not as important as they are, I don’t _know_ as much as they do, I don’t—“

Their voice catches horribly.

“I don’t know what I’m _doing._ ”

They sniff and tear the tissue again.

“I—I know what you said to Lime, that I’m—that I’m qualified or whatever but I’m—“ a sob chokes out— “I’m just a _kid_ and I’m scared and I’m _sorry._ ”

“Oh, kiddo,” Yellow whispers from far away, the hand on their elbow leaving.

Purple grabs another tissue and buries their nose in it, blowing angrily. After a moment they pull away and ball it up in their fist with the torn remains of the other one.

“Hey.” A hand turns them gently toward Yellow. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Purple nods miserably.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

Unbidden, they scoff.

“I’m serious,” Yellow says, the note of vulnerability in their voice making Purple look up. Yellow glances at the floor, their jaw ticking.

“When I got the call to come back to MIRAHQ,” they say quietly, “my first thought was that someone was trying to hijack the Ashton. It wasn’t until they listed off the Skeld’s crew that I realized this was real.”

“W-what was real?”

“That I was being summoned to a Council meeting.”

Purple’s eyes go wide. “A _what?_ ”

“I know,” Yellow says, “I…froze. I didn’t know _what_ to do. I thought: ‘this is crazy. What the hell is going on, _why_ am I being called?’ My first had to remind me _three_ times that I had to hail back saying I was coming.”

They bow their head for a moment, then look back up.

“My _second_ thought was that they hailed me by mistake. I’m not a ‘fleet Captain, I don’t command multiple ships, I’m _way_ outside of the circle that would normally be called for this, I’m not qualified for it.” They shake their head. “And I sure as _hell_ don’t know what’s going on any more than you do.”

“You don’t?”

Yellow shakes their head. “Not really. I only got here a few days before _you_ did. I was introduced to Lime and they briefed me but this is…this is politics and hidden people I’ve never even _known_ about before and way out of my depth.”

They give Purple a little nod.

“So it’s _okay,_ Purple. It’s okay to not know what you’re doing, I’m not sure what I’m doing either.”

“But it’s—“ Purple looks away.

“But it’s what, kiddo?”

“…but it’s _all_ the time,” they mumble, “I don’t—I _never_ know what I’m doing.”

“If I went into cardiac arrest right now,” Yellow asks, “what would you do?”

Purple frowns. “Call for an emergency medical team. See if I could get you to respond. If I couldn’t, get your suit off to see if you were still breathing. If you weren’t, look for an AED and start CPR.”

A soft smile appears on Yellow’s face.

“But that’s standard medical procedure.”

“If you asked me what to do if _you_ went into cardiac arrest,” Yellow says wryly, “there is no way I would’ve answered that well.”

“…oh.”

“Besides,” Yellow says, “you think I’ve never had a moment when I’m sitting on the bridge and I’m like: ‘who put me in charge of this? What am I doing here? How did I manage to get people to believe I could be a captain?’”

_…what?_

“But you’re…”

“Old?”

“… _you._ ”

Yellow softens, placing their hand on Purple’s shoulder. “I could say the same thing about you, you know.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I won’t lie,” they continue, “I had my doubts when you first came on board, but I’ve never seen someone with your work ethic or passion, nor someone who learns as quickly and efficiently as you did.”

“Really?”

“You would not _believe_ how much Teal wanted you to stay,” Yellow chuckles, “especially when I told them you’d be transferring to another ship. I was under threat to do everything in my power to make sure you stayed.”

“You were _what?_ ”

“But you made it clear that you wanted to try something else,” they say quietly, “and well, we knew better than to try and get in your way.”

Purple’s brain is currently not accepting new information right now, thank you very much. The dark weight in their chest still throbs, Yellow’s soft words striking it painfully.

“Purple,” they coax, getting Purple to look up, “do you think I’m an idiot?”

“What? No, of course not!”

They smile. “Then trust my judgment. You are an _exceptional_ officer, and any crew would be lucky to have you.” They nod toward the shoebox. “And I’m sure the families will be thankful to have the badges back.”

Purple follows their gaze to the shoebox. It sits a little less heavily on the dresser.

“So either those things are true,” Yellow says gently, “and you’re getting a little stuck in your own head again, or they’re lies and I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“So...?”

The dark weight in their chest trembles.

“You’re punishing yourself, kiddo,” Yellow murmurs, “and you don’t have to.”

“This is so _stupid,”_ Purple mumbles, burying their hands in their hair, “because I _know_ that, but it’s just—I—“

They stop, forcing their hands back to their sides.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Come on now, you know better than that.” Yellow gives their shoulder a squeeze. “You’re allowed to worry about _yourself_ a little too.”

They look up. Yellow stares back at them with gentle concern.

“Have you let yourself grieve yet,” they ask softly, “or mourn?”

Purple shakes their head.

“Have you let yourself feel _anything,_ or stop working?”

Have they?

They’ve…they’ve been…haven’t they?

Is that what they’ve been doing, or have they…

Have they just been so _scared?_

Their silence seems to be enough of an answer for Yellow.

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” they say after a moment longer, “and at the risk of sounding callous, you don’t need to worry about me, Purple.”

Purple looks away, the darkness bubbling up in their chest, chased away by the warmth of the hand on their shoulder and the words in their ear. It froths at the back of their throat, up over their tongue. It tastes bitter.

“I’m so _tired,”_ comes out of their mouth, “of being so scared.”

Yellow makes a noise of sympathy, rubbing their shoulder. “I’ll bet you’re just plain old tired too, huh?”

Purple nods, squeezing their eyes shut as more tears threaten to spill over. They’re sick and tired of _crying_ too.

“I want it to stop,” they whisper, “make it _stop._ ”

“Make what stop, kiddo,” Yellow asks tenderly, “what is it?”

“I—I can’t—I don’t want to be an officer r-right now.”

“Then don’t be.” They rub their shoulder again. “You’re _safe,_ kiddo, I promise.”

_Safe._

The darkness in their throat, in their mouth, in their chest evaporates, turning into a thick vapor that threatens to send them crashing to the floor. Safe, they’re—they’re safe now, they’re safe, Yellow is here, they’re—

“…will you stay?”

“Yeah, kiddo, I’ll stay. Do you want the door closed?”

Purple nods. Yellow moves away for a moment to shut the door, still standing a respectful distance away.

_They’re waiting,_ Purple realizes, for Purple to ask.

“Y-yellow, may—may I have a hug, please?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Yellow murmurs, opening their arms, “come here.”

Yellow is safe. Yellow is here. Yellow is warm and strong and Purple closes their eyes and they’re _safe._ For the first time in a long, _long_ time, as they close their eyes they don’t wish to be anywhere else.

“I’m right here,” Yellow soothes, rubbing Purple’s back firmly, “I’m right here, kiddo, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

They grip onto Yellow’s suit as tight as they can.

“I’m—I’m—gonna— _fall—“_

“I have you, kiddo,” Yellow says immediately, holding them firmly and starting to crouch down, “lean on me if you need to, I’ve got you.”

Purple’s legs turn to jelly as Yellow lowers them gently to the floor. They sag into Yellow’s chest, their head bumping uncomfortably against the metal rim of the suit. Yellow’s suit patches catch their hands as they scrabble desperately for somewhere to hang on.

“Hang on as much as you need to,” they murmur, holding still so Purple can wind their fingers around the rim of their suit, “don’t be afraid to hold onto me.”

They manage to get their chin hooked around the rim, lying in the hole next to Yellow’s neck. Yellow’s arms come up to hug them again as they lean against the foot of the bed.

“Just focus on me, kiddo,” Yellow murmurs, “it’s okay. It’s been a long ride for you, give yourself a second to breathe. I’m not expecting you to be able to get it all out right now—it’s gonna come in waves.”

“Why…” Purple swallows as it starts to well up in their throat again. “Why does this keep hap—happening? I thought I was—was _done,_ how—how much _longer?”_

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Yellow murmurs against their forehead, “I don’t know how much longer. But you’re just _starting,_ don’t rush yourself.”

“How—how am I only just—just—just _starting?_ ”

Yellow tightens their grip, settling their chin on top of Purple’s head. “Because you’re _safe_ now, sweetheart.”

_…safe…_

“Your body’s been coping,” they continue, rubbing Purple’s back, “and you’ve been…well, I’d guess you’ve been having moments where you _can’t_ anymore and it just kind of…comes out, yeah?”

They nod into Yellow’s neck.

“That’s not the same thing as letting it out, kiddo. And…” Purple can feel Yellow’s face move. “And I’m sorry you never felt safe enough before.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Purple’s hands twitch miserably.

“Hey,” Yellow soothes again, adjusting so Purple won’t get a crick in their neck, “don’t push yourself too hard. As I said, this isn’t going to be a quick thing. It’s gonna come out in stages, especially when you’re still not used to being safe.”

“Stages?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And it’s not going to be like you have one of these—“ they give Purple a soft squeeze— “and you’re going to feel better. You can’t just…skip to the end of a breakdown and have made progress.”

“Why _not?_ ”

“I wish it were different,” Yellow whispers, their own voice growing sad, “but that’s how healing works, sweetheart. It’s messy and ugly and _hard._ ”

They squeeze their eyes shut and turn their head further into the crook of Yellow’s shoulder, trying to burrow deep enough to hide.

“Don’t expect yourself to have made a lot of progress after this either,” they murmur, shifting to accommodate, “it’s okay if you don’t. Be gentle with yourself, kiddo.”

“But I’m so _tired._ ”

“I know, kiddo, I know. Just rest. Give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Purple breathes. There are no tears this time, just thick, heavy silence. Their eyes drift open and closed a few times, staring vacantly at Yellow’s throat. Pressed as they are up against Yellow’s chest, their suit all bunched and messy, they can feel the dull weight of the rim of the suit against their neck. Every now and then a wave of misery washes through them and they squeeze their eyes shut. And every time, Yellow soothes them, their hand never pauses as it rubs firm circles into their back. Yellow holds them steady, in this quiet corner of MIRAHQ, as Purple feels like they can breathe for the first time in _months._

“I missed you,” they manage after a particularly strong wave fisted their hands into Yellow’s suit, and the tenderness with which Yellow gentled it away made their throat close up.

In response, Yellow turns to press a chaste kiss to their temple.

“I missed you, too.”

Purple breathes.

After a long, _long_ time, they take a deeper breath and sit up, wincing a little at the stiffness in their neck. They blink a few times, their head fuzzy and heavy. Yellow shifts too, leaning back against the foot of the bed. They take another breath and let it out slowly.

“Good,” Yellow murmurs, “good job, kiddo.”

Purple turns to look at them. They smile and rub their arm.

“I’m proud of you.”

“…thanks.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you think it would help?”

“It might.”

Purple lets their head fall back against the bed. So much. So _much._ Too much.

“…okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can I hold your hand, though?”

Yellow reaches down and tenderly picks up Purple’s hand, squeezing it firmly.

“Purple,” they ask gently, “what happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow: uh, hey Purple?
> 
> Purple, vibrating a normal amount: yes?
> 
> Yellow: are you...okay
> 
> Purple: :)
> 
> Yellow: so is that a yes?
> 
> Purple: :)
> 
> Yellow, resigning adoption papers: why am I suddenly in a custody battle?


	7. Black: MIRAHQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black arrives in the hub of the humans. 
> 
> Do or die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER M'DUDES

_Most people today live in big cities. Big, bustling areas with lots of concrete and people living on top of each other. And everybody knows how to get around and everybody says hi to their neighbors.  
  
Some people live in smaller towns. Smaller, not quite as bustling areas with fewer buildings and people live a little farther apart. But everybody knows how to get around and everybody says hi to their neighbors.   
  
Few people live in very small towns. Tiny, not bustling areas with almost no buildings and people live very far apart. But everybody knows how to get around and everybody says hi to their neighbors.   
  
Almost no one lives in the middle of nowhere. One minuscule area with one building and only one person living miles away from everyone else. But usually they know how to get around and would still say hi to their neighbors if they had them.   
  
But no one lives in the Thicketdown Forest. There are no buildings and no people. Nobody really knows how to get around and there are no neighbors to say hi to.   
  
Most people who wander in to Thicketdown Forest stay for a little bit, walk around, then go back to their homes. Some stay a little longer and set up temporary places to stay. But they always pack up and go back to their homes. So they only know a little bit about how to get around. They normally know by the trees.   
  
There’s a large tree in the middle of the Thicketdown Forest, close to the Draymack River. In the mornings, when the sun is still hidden behind the bushes, the cool air makes the water from the river rise into the air and a thin layer of fog comes to swirl around the tree’s branches. Lots of moss plants, who like the fog, grow all over the branches, making the tree look like it’s dripping with plants. This is what gives the tree its name: the Fogmoss Tree.   
  
The Fogmoss Tree is very old. It’s been there for over a hundred summers and winters, and its trunk is very thick. Its roots are thick too and they twist across the clearing, making little bridges for water to flow into the Draymack River. When the sun pokes its face over the bushes and trees, the fog falls back to the ground and flows into the river, at least until the next morning.   
  
The ground under the roots is nice and soft because of the water that flows by and some of the roots have little knots in them that open up inside because of how old the wood is; being warmed by the sun and worn down by the snow makes the wood spongy and smooth. This is where Cassava Mouse lives.   
  
Every morning, when the fog swirls around the Fogmoss Tree, Cassava scurries outside to the knots on her root. She’s built little cups out of acorn tops and set them up in the nooks and crannies of the wood that faces towards the Draymack River. After the fog turns back into water, some of it falls down onto the roots. Cassava peers into her little acorn cups.   
  
Water sparkles inside and she’s quick to cover the acorns with the leaf lids and scurry them back inside. Water is best when it comes from the Fogmoss Tree, you know.   
  
When she’s back inside, she puts the acorn with the leaf lids in the part of her burrow that’s attached to the main root that leads back to the Fogmoss Tree. Back there it’s nice and cool so the water stays cold. She likes it back there too, especially during the summers when the sun makes it really hot outside, or during the winters because the wind can’t reach her.   
  
Once she grabs her water, she scurries back to her stores in another section of the root to check how much food she’s gathered. She needs to have food at least three-whiskers deep before the winters arrive. She’s only one-whisker deep so far.   
  
The sun is peeking over the bushes when she scurries back outside. She sniffs the air and the ground. The summer is ending. She’s better off putting on her coat first. Scurrying back inside to the little roots by the entrance she fetches the woven grass coat her grand-mouse had given her three winters ago. The sun has made it slightly browner than the grass around her burrow, which is fine because then when she accidentally leaves it outside, she can find it pretty easily.   
  
Her favorite foraging patch is a few bunny jumps away from Fogmoss Tree, in the bushes. That’s also where most of her friends live, so she can see them when she goes to gather food. Normally Theodore Urtle is sleeping on the large rock bed, or Tessa Bunny is sniffing around the clover field, or Christian Magpie’s flown in for a little bit and is talking about all of the fantastic things he’s seen on his journeys. He’s quite the chirper._

_There’s a blueberry patch next to a rose bush where she can find enough of both to make her blueberry-rose jam. It’s excellent with acorn stew and a capful of moss tea. She likes to make it when she has her grand-mouse over, or when the swallow twins, Thyme and Tassel Swallow, come to visit. They came two suns ago, so they won’t be back until the winter is gone. But sometimes she just likes to have it in the burrow. She enjoys it too, you know._

_The bush’s branches grow very close to the ground, creating little tunnels with vaulted ceilings where the branches grow so close and so thick that they weave together. That leaves just enough room for Cassava to scurry through, climbing the branches to reach the very top of the bush. The best blueberries grow at the top of the bush, you know. She gathers them up, taking care to test each one for juiciness with a prod of her paws before carefully nibbling the stem away and carrying it back to her burrow. She can only carry about three at once; she’s only a little mouse after all._

_She can carry the little nuts and berries from the other bushes in her cheeks at the same time though. She fills her mouth and holds the blueberries in one of her front paws while she scurries. When she was still no bigger than a baby maple leaf, she would often tumble over the roots and her food would scatter. Now that she’s bigger, she’s had time to work on her balance._

_She has to make sure to pack the blueberries into her stores last, because otherwise the juice will get out all over her patchwork quilt. So she puts the little berries and nuts in first, leaves the roses out by the little stove so she can make her jam, and then carefully balances the blueberries on top._

_Then after all of that, she’s normally made quite a mess. Forests aren’t normally known for their cleanliness, you know._

_Cassava’s grand-mouse was always a stickler for cleanliness, said it was a mouse’s duty to keep the burrow clean so one’s whiskers didn’t shrivel. Cassava’s not sure if she believes that. There’s not a speck of dust in her grand-mouse’s house, and she’s never seen a more shriveled pair of whiskers. But she does like her burrow clean, so she takes care._

_The Fogmoss Tree’s branches are really big, so there’s enough sticks around for Cassava to make a broom handle out of one and attach a dandelion bloom to one end. It’s small enough and light enough for her to stand on her hind legs and sweep. It’s very handy._

_She starts at the back and works her way forward. It’s more efficient that way, you know. The back burrow, near the stores, has her patchwork quilt and a bed of moss with a thistle for her pillow. She sweeps around the bed for any moss that may have fallen out of the branch frame and straightens the quilt. The path to the stores is often a little dirtier than the rest of the burrow, because there’s enough food to overflow a little bit when she stores it properly. But that’s okay. Cassava would rather have too much food than too little. She sweeps what food is outside back in, then moves on to the kitchen area. When the sun comes up, it heats the little ledge outside her curtain so she can bake her acorn bread and the little berry pies she loves to have with her moss tea. The ledge doesn’t normally get too dirty because the fog cleans it every night. Although, sometimes she’ll forget a cup of moss tea or a pie on the ledge and it's ruined. So she does have to clean that up._

_Between the ledge and the back burrow, there’s a little nook in the bend of the root, and that’s where her furniture is. She had one friend, Christian Magpie, that dropped off this big golden coin that she balanced atop a bump in the root floor to use as her table. There are two leaf chairs on either side, made out of two leaves each, that get nice and toasty in the winters. She has to repair them every so often so the leaves don’t fall over. She sweeps for any extra crumbs before sweeping the pile of dirt out the door._

_After all of that, she’s hungry. And she left the roses out by the stove. She can make leaf-and-rose-petal salad and still have enough left over for rose and blueberry jam._

_She finishes eating and sets the caps of newly made jam on the root shelves and heads up to the top of her root. She likes to watch the water flowing in the stream. The babbling water as it goes over the rocks makes pretty patterns when the sun bounces its light onto the bark of the trees and the logs on the bank. Occasionally, a little piece of bark or a leaf will fall from the Fogmoss Tree and Cassava likes to watch as it drifts down the river, twisting and dipping until it’s out of sight. By then, it’s normally dark, so she goes back inside to sleep. She enjoys the forest, but she likes her burrow better. It’s nice and cosy._

_One day, when she’s foraging around for more acorns, she comes across a sunken part in the bushes. She scurries forward cautiously, reminded of the stories her grand-mouse used to tell her about falling into pits and not being able to scurry out. Her snout bumps into something rough and scaly. For a second, she thinks Helena Rattlesnake is back, but then a head pops up. It’s definitely not Helena Rattlesnake._

_“Hello,” she chitters nervously, “my name is Cassava Mouse. What’s your name?”_

_The creature unfolds its body and turns to face Cassava. It looks a little bit like grand-mouse’s friend Mr. I. Guana, but this creature is skinnier and has two pieces of skin folded against its back. As it walks out of the bush, Cassava realizes they’re wings, but not the feathery wings of Thyme and Tassel. These wings look more like bat wings, like Dr. Moonlight, even though this creature is much larger than Dr. Moonlight, almost the size of Tabby Cat. The creature bows its head, looking at Cassava with amber eyes that remind her of the golden-brown leaves when summer ends and the sun shines through them._

_“Hello, Cassava Mouse.” The creature’s voice was…old. But not like her grand-mouse’s voice, which creaked and wheezed with the years. This creature’s voice has a rumble to it that sounds like the breeze when it blows through the branches of the Fogmoss Tree, or the rushing of the water in the Draymack River as it goes around the rocks. “My name is Pyro.”_

* * *

The conference room is cold.

Pink takes a seat at the other end of the table, joining Red on one side. On the other, two more Impostors sit, one in the vague humanoid state needed to survive in their atmosphere, one in a gray suit. They stare at Black as the door slides shut with a _thud._

Black swallows and sits.

“Impostor,” Pink says after a moment, “you return to us with a failed mission. Explain.”

Black shifts. “I did as the mission asked. The Skeld was hijacked successfully and brought to Polus.”

“False,” Pink hisses, “the mission is a failure. The crew was supposed to be _handled.”_

“The crew _is_ handled.”

Pink scoffs. “ _One_ of them is still alive. And if the records are to be believed, the proper certification was secured _weeks_ before the arrival of the Skeld. And even if that were not the case, you lost _two_ of our kind on your watch.”

“White and Cyan—“

“You do not get to _speak_ their names,” Pink interrupts, pushing themselves to their feet, “not when you _betrayed them._ ”

Black straightens. “I did not betray them.”

“Unlike yourself,” Gray says, “they were not as hesitant to share the details in their logs. White’s in particular was _quite_ informative.”

_Shit._

“What do you have to say for yourself,” Pink spits, “and how you sold out two of _your_ people for a _human?_ ”

“I did not betray them.”

“You allowed them to be _murdered_ in cold blood and _prevented_ the mission from advancing.” Pink’s gaze is _steel_ even through the helmet. “That is the very definition of betrayal.”

“Now, now,” the third Impostor says slowly, their voice carrying a sloshing undercurrent, “Black has been a loyal agent for many, many years. Surely they have some _explanation_ prepared.”

“I’ve no interest in hearing what this _traitor_ wants to say.”

“Be that as it might,” they continue, turning their head toward Pink, “we _shall_ hear them out.”

Pink grumbles, crossing their arms but standing down. The head sloshes toward Black.

“Proceed.”

_Fuck._

“The mission,” Black starts, “did not proceed as planned.”

Pink snorts. “There’s a surprise.”

“Enough. Black, continue.”

“The original intent was to isolate the crewmate responsible for the reactor,” Black says, “when all three of us were still alive. When there were….when that no longer became an option, the parameters had to shift.”

“The interesting thing,” Gray says, leaning forward, “is that in White’s logs, they maintained that _you_ were the one who demanded they _stick_ with Green, even after Cyan was caught.”

“That is correct.”

“Then, my apologies,” Gray says as they lean back, “but I don’t see how this led to _Purple_ being the one you kept alive.”

“Green was a more experienced human officer,” Black says, “and less easily managed when we had fewer numbers.”

“If I recall,” the head sloshes, “your record indicates that you have been able to hold _larger_ ships by yourself. Surely a _senior_ Impostor such as yourself would have been able to…handle this?”

“The Skeld is an older model of ship where the inner workings of its crew are required to a much greater extent,” Black says, “given by how _simple_ it was to sabotage.”

“You are saying an additional pair of hands was required?”

“I am.”

“Then maybe you should’ve made sure _your people_ stayed alive,” Pink hisses, striding forward again, “this is a waste of time! I’m not going to stand here and listen to excuse after excuse when the mission was clearly sabotaged!”

“Now, Pink—“

“No,” Pink says, pointing a finger at Gray, “ _you’ve_ let this slide for far too long. The longer we let that _thing_ roam around Polus, the greater the risk that other missions will fail too!”

“It’s simply one human. There is a limit to how much—“

“ _Don’t you dare finish that sentence._ ”

Red speaks up for the first time. To be honest, Black _almost_ forgot they were here.

“Why didn’t you kill the little one,” they ask, stippling their fingers together, “when you were about to dock?”

The others fall silent, staring at Red.

“After all,” Red continues, “you already had the clearance. You flew the ship down to dock. And it’s not as if it has to continue to function _now._ ”

Black swallows. “What would be the point? The typical protocol is to kill the crewmates here, in the base.”

“But the others had already been killed on account of radiation,” Red interjects smoothly, folding their hands on the table, “surely…one more would not be amiss?”

“Their voice is on the logs checking in at the outpost, they would’ve—“

“Ones that are only accessed by _us._ ”

Black falls silent. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

Red hums and sits back.

The head sloshes back and forth. “You have always been a very good liar, Black.”

Black flinches.

“And that is because, in every lie, you always emphasize what little truth there is in your words.”

“I would not lie to you.”

“Perhaps the things you are saying are not untrue,” the head sloshes, “but there are also things you are _not_ telling us.”

Pink slams a tablet down onto the table and stabs their finger into it. White’s voice fills the room.

“Black is unreliable. Their judgment is not to be trusted. They are growing attached to a member of the human crew and it is affecting their ability to complete the mission. Twice they have prevented action from being taken in order to progress at the expense of our lives. They already cost us Cyan.”

Pink presses the button again.

“It seems,” the head sloshes, “that White was not mistaken.”

“You’ve gone _soft,_ ” Pink hisses, swiping the tablet off the table, “ _poisoned_ by that little monster. What, did they feed you some bullshit about how great humans were? That they would be _merciful_ to us?”

“No.”

“Did it get too _lonely_ for you up there,” they sneer, oblivious to the way Black’s maw starts to growl, “were White and Cyan not _enough_ for you?”

“That’s enough, Pink.”

“Wanted to see if the stories about how _soft_ a human is were true?”

“That’s _enough!_ ” Gray slams their own fist down onto the table. “I will not _have_ this.”

“You won’t ‘have this’—what the hell _is_ this?” Pink throws their hands up. “ _Why_ are we not punishing Black?”

“Nothing has been decided yet,” Gray says firmly, “but you—“

“Why am _I_ the only one taking this seriously?” Pink stabs a finger at Black. “Two of our people are _dead_ because of them. A _human_ is wandering around our base because of them.”

“There’s already a human wandering around here.”

“You know what I mean!”

“No, Pink,” Gray says, getting to their feet, “I don’t think I do. You had your mind made up before the ship landed and now—“

“Because we all made up our minds before Black got here!” Pink cries. “This is _war,_ damnit, and we can’t have _soft_ Impostors or we’ll be _slaughtered._ ”

“Black has served us well for years,” the head sloshes, tilting down at Black, “it is a pity their record must end like this.”

“ _Thank_ you!”

“You’re not seriously considering this,” Gray grumbles, turning to face the third Impostor.

“I am _more_ than considering it,” the head sloshes, “we are at war.”

“Then don’t kill off a valuable soldier!” Gray gestures at Black. “They’re right. We’ve already lost so many to the humans, what good is it if _we_ start killing our own too?”

Black watches, bemused, as the three start quarreling among themselves. If they weren’t still mindful of just how much danger they’re currently in, they could swear that if they just changed the color of the suits and placed them in the cafeteria of the Skeld, this could be an argument the _humans_ were having.

“Black.”

The others fall silent as Red stirs again.

“What do you think about this war?”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“The war,” Red says, idly twirling their hand, “what do you think? Are we winning the war? Are we losing? How do we fight it?”

_Oh, well, is that all?_

Black takes a moment, watching Pink scoff and turn away, as Gray straightens their suit and sits back down. The third Impostor simply sloshes back and forth.

“I don’t think we’re winning,” Black starts carefully, “and…given our current tactics and abilities, I don’t think we _can_ win how we’re currently fighting.”

Pink huffs. Red ignores them.

“Continue.”

“The humans in charge do not lack for resources, they do not lack for manpower, they do not lack for any of the things that we do.” Black glances at Pink. “Nor do they care about how many of their own die just so they can make a profit.”

“So you are saying there is no way we can win?”

“I’m saying that as of right now, most humans aren’t aware they’re even _fighting_ a war.”

“Because if they knew they’d just blow up the planet and be done with it,” Pink growls under their breath.

“Because most humans aren’t _told_ the truth about who we are,” Black corrects, “nor do they know what their own leaders are doing. The leaders are just throwing people at the problem and hoping it goes away.”

Red nods thoughtfully. “So then what do you propose we do?”

“…I don’t know.”

“There’s a big fucking shock.”

Red is quiet for a moment, tapping their fingers on the desk. Pink won’t stop glowering at Black, and neither will the third Impostor stop their maw from opening in a threatening display. Gray sits with their hands in their lap, waiting for Red.

“This mission did not turn out as it was supposed to,” Red says finally, “but I do not believe that it can be deemed a failure.”

Pink tries to say something but is quelled by a look.

“This is the first time an Impostor has returned to us with the full trust of a human,” Red says, turning back to Black, “and this opportunity must not be squandered.”

“…what sort of opportunity do you propose,” Gray asks warily.

“The consensus that we have reached,” Red says, placing their hands on the desk again, “is that we lack information. How the humans will react, what information they have about our people, our planet…therefore we must _gather_ this information.”

Black sits up a little straighter. “What would you have me do?”

“You will await further instruction,” Red says cooly, “and you are dismissed.”

_“Diss—_ “

Black quickly stands with a nod and beats a hasty retreat as Pink starts yelling again. As they turn down the corner toward the quarters, they come across Blue coming out of the quarantine area.

“Black?” Blue looks up at them. “Shouldn’t you be in isolation?”

“I’ve been scanned,” Black says, “I’m clear.”

“Ah. Well, then that’s alright.”

They jerk their head toward the rooms behind Blue. “How’s Purple?”

“A little shaken,” Blue says, glancing back too, “understandably. You two’ve been through a lot, huh?”

“…mm.”

Blue sighs, glancing down at the object in their hands. Black follows their gaze, only _now_ realizing that Blue’s holding a shoebox.

_Purple’s_ shoebox.

“Just between you ’nd me,” Blue mutters, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the kid thinks they’re gonna die in that room.”

“They won’t,” Black says firmly, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Blue huffs. “Ain’t much you can do about the radiation, Black. But I’m sure they’ll appreciate the sentiment.”

“How many days do they have to stay in there?”

  
“Only a few. After that, well—“ Blue shrugs— “we could use you two around here.”

“We’ll help.”

“Good for you,” Blue says, knocking their shoulder as they pass by, “Purple’s lucky to have you.”

_I’m not sure it’s luck,_ Black thinks as they stare down the corridor.

* * *

_“Hello, Pyro,” she says, “why have you come to Thicketdown?”  
  
“Is that what this place is?” Pyro looks around, head swiveling from side to side. “It is…pleasant. And soft.”  
  
“Soft?” Cassava’s nose wriggles. Little twigs and brambles cover the ground under the bush. It’s nothing like her patchwork quilt or the spongy wood of the roots.   
  
“Yes,” Pyro says, “where I come from everything is different. It is all rocks and sand. Not…this.” The creature bends its neck and noses at a twig that rolls towards Cassava. “What do you call these? They look like the tall green trees, but smaller.”  
  
“These are twigs,” Cassava says as she picks it up and offers it to Pyro, “they fall from the bushes and the Fogmoss Tree when the wood breaks off.”  
  
“I see…” Pyro looks around. “Is that your Fogmoss Tree?”  
  
Cassava turns. Pyro’s nose points upwards at the branches of the tree. “Yes, but it’s not mine. I live in it. In the roots.”  
  
“Inside?”  
  
“Yes, inside. It keeps me safe at night and when the rains come and the winds blow.”  
  
“I had a cave once. It kept me safe when the winds blew.” Pyro sounds…sad?  
  
Cassava chitters nervously. “What happened to your cave?”  
  
The creature shakes its large head slowly back and forth. “I do not know. I was flying next to my cave and the winds blew. They blew too fast and I was lost to the skies. I do not know how to get back to my cave, so I hid under this bush.” Pyro shrinks back undercover. “The winds cannot get me here.”  
  
Cassava’s little mouse heart races. She’s heard Tassel and Thyme’s stories about what happens to birds that get caught in the wind. Pyro is bigger than the twins, so the wind that blew must’ve been really strong.   
  
“And even if I knew how to find my cave, I could not go back.” Pyro nudges its left wing with its snout. “The winds were too strong for my wings, and now there is something wrong. I cannot fly properly.”  
  
Cassava peeks her little head around to look. There’s a part on Pyro’s wing that looks bent, like someone’s taken a leaf and pulled until the stem twists the wrong way. In the creature’s effort to unfurl its wings, the wing twists back for a little while, then Pyro makes a groaning rumbling sound and the wings lower, bending back out of shape. It lowers its head, nose almost brushing the dirt.   
  
“That is alright. I am not sure where my cave is, and even if I continue to miss it so dearly I will not know. So I will stay here.” It noses around the bush. “It is soft here, and dark, and there is food.” It shrinks back into itself, using its wings to shield its head. “And the winds cannot reach me.”  
  
Pyro seems to shake itself and looks back up at Cassava. “But I do not wish to be rude. I have talked about myself for a long while. Would you like to describe your home for me, Cassava Mouse?”  
  
She thinks. She doesn’t know Pyro that well, and her grand-mouse always warned her about telling strangers too much. They could be dangerous, she remembers, especially if they’re bigger than you. Then she looks at Pyro’s eyes again. They are warm, like the wood of her root when the sun rests its light on the Fogmoss Tree, and curious.   
  
“My home is in a root a few bunny jumps away,” she starts, “and it’s warm too. When the sunlight reaches the Fogmoss Tree, the inside gets very warm. But the further back you go, it gets cooler, which is nice for storing my food and sleeping.”  
  
“Storing your food?” Two ridges on Pyro’s head furrow like Helena Rattlesnake’s eyelids. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, in the winters, when it gets cold, it’s not safe for me to go outside to get food. So I gather a lot of it at the end of the summers and then I won’t have to leave my burrow.”  
  
“Burrow…” Pyro tests the word in its mouth. The rumble in the creature’s voice sounds like the forest itself is calling Cassava home. “Do you like your burrow, Cassava Mouse?”  
  
“Oh, yes!” Cassava covers her mouth with her little paws. Sometimes she gets a little excited and squeaks. Her grand-mouse always told her it’s not polite to squeak in company.   
  
“Why are you covering your mouth?” Pyro asks, head tilting to the side. “Is is uncommon to love one’s home in Thicketdown? Did you misspeak?”  
  
Missqueak is more like it, Cassava thinks. “No,” she says instead, “but it is rude to squeak loudly with company.”  
  
“Am I your company?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
“Perhaps it is different in where I come from, but one normally determines what is polite or impolite by what bothers their guest. Your excitement about your burrow does not bother me, Cassava Mouse. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I will be happy to hear about your burrow.”  
  
Happily, Cassava talks about the patchwork quilt on her bed, the leaf chairs in the little nook, the curtain and the baking ledge outside, how she collects her water. Pyro listens and nods and rumbles as she chitters. Too soon, Cassava looks up and realizes the sun has almost touched the banks of the Draymack River. She hasn’t even gathered any food.   
  
“Cassava Mouse?” Pyro rumbles, “is everything alright?”  
  
“Yes,” she says, “but I have to go. It’ll be dark soon, and I have to get home.”  
  
“Then may the winds be kind as you go home,” Pyro says, “and if you wish to talk with me again, I will be here.” With that, the creature settles itself in the bush.   
  
Cassava takes one more look at the bush before scurrying home. As she sips her moss tea and nibbles her acorn loaf, she thinks about Pyro. She’s never seen anyone like Pyro in Thicketdown Forest before, at least not in the area by the Fogmoss Tree, and she’s not sure where else it could be from. She keeps thinking as she tidies away and gives her burrow one more sweep before snuggling under her patchwork quilt. She wonders about how strange and frightening for Pyro this must be; alone in a strange place with a broken wing and no way to get home. _

_As she falls asleep, she decides she’s going to be Pyro’s friend._

* * *

Black watches the door to Purple’s quarters close and quietly closes their own, striding off down the hall. They walk up the ramp into the darkness and turn the corner, heading for the doors. Outside, the snow piles up into the corner around the two snowmen. They exit the office and wait.

After a few minutes, Red appears, striding out of the darkness.

“Snowmen,” they hum softly, looking at the sculptures, “how quaint.”

Black stays quiet. 

“And here I would’ve guessed they would be facsimiles for target practice.” Red glances over when Black doesn’t speak. “Come now, there’s no need to be so formal.”

“I don’t see the reason why not.”

“And you are far from the most…talkative Impostor, even at the best of times.”

“Why did you talk to Purple?”

“They are a human on my planet,” Red says smoothly, “and even if they weren’t, they are a _guest._ Never let it be said that I am anything less than a gracious host.”

They glance over at Black.

“No?”

“Why did you want to talk to them?”

“Curiosity.” Red turns and takes a step closer. “You have been on more missions than any other Impostor in a _long_ time. You have killed more humans than most others still alive. And you yourself have scoffed at the idea that trying to form a relationship with them is anything more than a convenient excuse or a besotted delusion.”

Black stays motionless as Red stops right in front of them.

“So when you returned to us with a human still alive, that _trusted_ you, I’ll admit…” They run their gaze over Black’s suit. “I was curious as to how they managed to convince you to keep them alive.”

Red turns, walking back toward the snowmen.

“At first I thought perhaps you’d been found out. That they’d forced you to bring them to us to kill us all, but then I realized you’d rather blow up the ship than let that happen.” They flick a snowflake off their glove. “Then I thought perhaps you’d broken them, reduced them to nothing but a shell. A tool, to be used however you like.”

Black’s maw openly growls.

Red chuckles. “Yes…that’s the conclusion I came to as well. That’s never been your style. So…then it was of your own free will, then, that this little human was still alive. And that I _had_ to see…the one that finally made our _Black_ go soft.”

“With all due respect,” Black says through gritted teeth, “get to the point.”

They chuckle again. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to get impatient.”

They turn around, resting their hand on the head of the snowman.

“Do you trust Purple?”

“Yes,” Black replies instantly.

“Do you believe them?” Red tilts their head. “That they told you the truth about humans?”

“Yes.”

They nod, still considering Black. Black swallows.

“For whatever it’s worth,” they say carefully, “I also believe that… _if_ they were given the chance, they would help us.”

“What kind of person would turn against their own species?”

“…I _was_ on trial for treason not too long ago, and my execution was very much on the table.”

Red hums. They look down and pat the snowman’s head.

“I believe you’re correct,” they say after a moment, “about the war. This is not a war we can win, and there is only so long that I can send our people to their deaths. Even someone as skilled as you…our luck cannot hold out forever.”

Black swallows. “Do not misunderstand me, I want an end to this for our people.”

“I don’t misunderstand,” Red says wryly, “but I hope that _you_ understand that what you ask is to put all of our trust in the hands of the people that did this.”

_What?_

“When the transport arrives for Purple,” Red says, “you will be on it. You will travel with Purple to MIRAHQ.”

“I understand.”

“There will be a contact of mine waiting there for you,” Red says turning away, “and they will brief you. Do not let your time with Purple dull your senses; MIRAHQ is every bit as deadly as you fear.”

“I won’t fail.”

Red glances over their shoulder. “Sometimes I worry that we are no better than they are as well,” they muse, “especially when it comes to information.”

Black tilts their head. “Can you clarify?”

“The humans do not tell their people they are at war,” Red says, “nor do they tell them the truth about what they have done to us.”

“You have not withheld information about what the humans have done.”

“No,” Red says, tilting their head, “but I _have_ withheld information about them.”

Black shifts. “What sort of information.”

“I said that you were the first of us to return to Polus with the full trust of a human,” Red says, “but you are not the first of us to _gain_ the full trust of a human.”

“…the rumors about the humans accepting Impostors as one of them, that they—they leave our people.”

Red nods.

“But those are rumors.”

Red chuckles. “After all you have experienced,” they say softly, “can you still be so sure?”

Before Black can respond, Red disappears.

They return to their quarters that night and sit awake, staring at the wall. They’re going to MIRAHQ. They’re _staying_ on MIRAHQ. Red said that they don’t think they can win this war.

Black’s maw starts to whine.

They tamp it down as much as they can, not wanting the other Impostors to pick up on it. They stay by Purple’s side, guarding them, waiting for Pink or Gray or another colored suit to brandish a knife or swallow Purple whole. As the transport arrival draws nearer and nearer, a familiar scent fills the air, and Black presses even closer.

The ship arrives.

Purple clutches the shoebox to their chest as they walk on, a constant buzzing presence next to them. Other humans. Not in standard suits. They glance around. No engine room access. No system rooms. No other crew members. They can hear Purple muttering a ‘thank you’ to the one who seals them in their room.

Black sits down on the couch, staring at the door.

This ship is _full_ of humans. They don’t have tasks. They don’t have sabotages. They don’t have any comms nor ways to talk to the others back on Polus. And they have barely two days before they reach MIRAHQ where any wrong move will get them killed instantly.

Their maw starts to whine and froth, their hold on their suit growing shakier by the minute. They lock themselves in place, clutching tightly at the control over their form. They will not move. They will not fail. They will not let this beat them. Everything drowns out into white noise, their vision, their hearing, their smell, everything. Everything is static.

Is this…is this what it means to be afraid?

“Are you hungry?”

The static parts around the maw. “No.”

“Two days…that’s fast.”

Black’s control over the static is slipping.

“Why do you think they sent us on this ship?”

“I don’t know.”

Purple moves away and the static clouds Black’s helmet. Their helmet? Are they still wearing a helmet? Do they still have the shape of a helmet? What shape are they supposed to have? What do they do?

Faintly, they hear the sound of footsteps. Footsteps? Who’s here? Are they armed?

“May I sit with you, please?”

Purple. It’s Purple.

It takes a moment for the static to parse out the question.

“Thank you.”

The couch sinks. Purple sat down. The static makes it hard to tell. _Fuck,_ what—they have to hold on. They have to hold on. Hold. _Hold._

“May I read something?”

They force themselves through the static as Purple asks another question. They blink a few times, staring hard at the door and feeling the couch sink, seeing the little bit of purple out of the corner of their eye. Stay here. Stay. 

“…if you want.”

“Thank you.” A quiet rustle of paper thought the static. “‘ _Three Billy Goats Gruff.’_ ”

Purple reads. Their voice carries gently through the static, rising and falling with the story of three goats that go up a mountain to eat grass and a…creature that lives under the bridge that wants to eat them. As they do, the static slowly begins to clear, replacing itself with the door, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the couch. Their voice conjures up images of mountains, of little animals walking across bridges, things that Black has never seen. Slowly, _slowly,_ the froth in their gut begins to settle, their maw gradually unfurling and settling back into place.

Purple reaches the end of the story and pauses, glancing up.

“…may I read another?”

The static buzzes around Black’s head.

“…what’s a troll?”

Purple answers by showing them the picture. And yes, Black can imagine that if something like that tried to eat them, they wouldn’t be very happy about it either.

“Oh, here’s a good one. It’s part of a larger collection of stories called _‘The Thousand and One Nights._ ’ If…if you want, I can come a little closer, and then you can see while I read?”

Anything to keep the static away.

“…yes.”

As Purple reads the second story, Black finds themselves leaning closer and closer to Purple, as if Purple’s presence is enough to push away the static. They feel almost drunk with fear as they sag against the couch, hanging onto the pictures in Purple’s book as the static continues to ebb and flow.

As it begins to recede, Black picks up the scent of _Purple’s_ fear and a rush of protectiveness they haven’t felt since this _started_ floods their system.

Purple is _still_ scared, right now, and they’re being this kind, this sweet, putting Black’s wellbeing above their own. Worry and pride nip at each other in Black’s chest as they lean a little closer to them. The strength that Purple must have to continue on like this…and how _brutally_ they must’ve been treated to become so used to _demonstrating_ that strength.

Abruptly, Purple stops. Black blinks, disoriented at the sudden loss.

“That’s…it? There’s no ending?”

“That is the ending. It’s the first part of a larger collection of stories.” Purple closes the book. “Every night, she tells a story, but doesn’t finish it so the Sultan will keep her alive until she does.”

“And it…works?”

“It does. For a thousand and one nights.”

“That’s not very believable.”

Purple shrugs. “Humans are creative, storytelling beings. We can’t get enough of them. We love stories. We tell them and retell them until they’re brand new stories of their own.”

Purple’s voice begins to list again, the way it did when they were reading, growing looser and warmer as they speak. Black shifts, caught up in the whirlpool of Purple’s words, unable to do anything, even as Purple’s head falls onto their shoulder.

“We’re all stories in the end,” they mumble, “we just…try to make them _good_ ones.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Black blinks. They’re not wearing a helmet anymore. Instead, they have their human face on, staring down at Purple. The static is gone, replaced by the low hum of the engines and the solid weight of the head on their shoulder.

Slowly, so slowly, they lean down to rest their head on top.

“Well then,” Black murmurs, “maybe you’ll read me another one tomorrow.”

Purple does.

* * *

_As it turns out, being Pyro’s friend is easy. Pyro is eager to learn and happy to listen, and very good at helping Cassava reach the best berries and roses. She clambers up on top of its head and lets it lift her to the very tops of the bushes. Even if Pyro does eat some of the berries that fall to the ground. It makes Cassava laugh when the creature tries to hide behind its wing when she scolds it halfheartedly. In truth, Cassava thinks it’s a little endearing. One day, she binds a twig to its broken wing with blades of grass to help it heal in place. Pyro nearly bowls her over in its effort to thank her. When they aren’t foraging, they talk. About home, about winters, summers, creatures they know. Apparently Pyro’s seen birds near its cave that look a lot like Christian Magpie._

_One day, Cassava decides to bring Pyro something else to eat besides blueberries and roses. She loves blueberries and roses, but if that’s all she ate, she would get tired of them. And she would run out. Bushes can only grow so fast, you know. So when she puts on her coat and makes to scurry outside, she takes her twig-and-grass basket and places a loaf of her acorn bread and a berry pie inside. She ties the basket shut and scurries to Pyro, whose head is poking out of the bush, eyes watching the sky as the white clouds drift across. The creature is harder to spot now; the leaves of all the trees have turned golden browns, reds, oranges, and yellows, and are falling to the ground. Pyro’s warm scales blend into the branches of the bush so that Cassava has to scurry closer before she can see its body._

_“Hello, Cassava Mouse,” Pyro says, “there is a large clump of berries near the top of the bush. Would you like to share it with me?”_

_“Of course,” Cassava chitters, “and I’ve brought food to share too!”_

_“You have?” Pyro tilts its head to the side. “Thank you, Cassava Mouse. What have you brought?”_

_“Let’s get the berries first,” she says, scurrying over to where Pyro’s head is resting on the ground. She holds onto the two little ridges on the back as Pyro slowly raises her until she can see the blueberries._

_They’re a deep blue, like the night sky, with a purple tint to the tops where the flesh has started to dye the leaves around it. When she prods them gently with a paw, the dew runs down onto the stems and their weight makes them shake in the bush. Pyro waits patiently as she nibbles through the stem and takes the clump in her paws. When she’s lowered to the ground, she places the berries on the ground and unties her basket._

_“What is this?” Pyro asks, lowering its snout to sniff the loaf and the pie. Cassava explains, recalling Pyro’s interest in her baking ledge. “You…made these? That is…incredible. We do not bake where I come from. We can warm things to eat and we can roast if necessary, but we do not mix them together.”_

_“If you like, I can show you!”_

_“I would very much enjoy that, Cassava Mouse. Shall we eat now?”_

_Eagerly, the pair tuck in. As Cassava nibbles, she watches Pyro carefully use one of its claws to break off a little piece of pie and lower its mouth to take a small bite. Its eyes go wide enough for Cassava to see the reflection of the clouds in the bright blue sky._

_“This is the most delicious thing anyone ever gave me before this moment,” Pyro rumbles, “thank you, Cassava Mouse.”_

_Cassava’s little mouse heart jumps into her throat. The only other person who’s loved her baking like this was the old badger, Mr. Hornsworth, before he went to the forest bed. She meekly repeats that she would like to show Pyro how she bakes. “It might be a little difficult with winter coming, the sun won’t be as warm.”_

_“I may be able to help you,” Pyro says, “my fire should be warm enough.”_

_“Fire?” Cassava squeaks, “What do you mean ‘fire?’”_

_“Dragons can typically breathe fire, can they not?” Pyro looks at her curiously. “Does that frighten you?”_

_Fire. When the forest is thick and black and she can’t see and it hurts and she has to scurry to the Draymack River and hide on a stone in the water and hope her burrow doesn’t burn._

_Cassava looks at Pyro. It’s looking at her cautiously from under the bush branches. Its head cocks to the side and the twig lashed to its wing pokes out a little from its scales. Pyro’s a dragon. It has fire breath._

_And it’s still far from home, injured, and still very much her friend._

_“No, Pyro,” Cassava says finally, “you don’t frighten me.”_

_“That is good, Cassava Mouse,” Pyro rumbles quietly, “it would not do if I frightened my friend.”_

_“We’ll figure out how to bake,” Cassava promises, “I want to.” She looks back down at the rest of their meal. “I would also enjoy a cup of my moss tea with this. Or my blueberry tea.”_

_“Tea?”_

_“When you have something and mix it in hot water,” Cassava explains, “it’s called tea.”_

_“I would like to try it if you do not mind,” Pyro says, looking behind into the back of the bush. “I have been drinking from the dew drop puddle in the center of the bush. It is much fresher and sweeter than the water from my cave, but it is still plain water.”_

_“Wait ‘till you try the water from the Fogmoss Tree,” Cassava chitters, “it’s the best.”_

_“I very much look forward to it.”_

* * *

They’ve docked on MIRAHQ. Black keeps their gaze firmly on the floor as they walk outside, looking up to scan for the bay. The less time they spend in the open the better. They have to get to the recruitment desk.

There are other Impostors here, at least half a dozen. The longer they stay here, the greater the risk that one of them will spot Purple.

Black is out of the bay and across the hall in barely a moment. Purple is behind them. They straighten their shoulders and plow forward. The crowd parts in front of them.

“B-Black, wait! You’re faster than I am!”

Black reaches back for Purple to hang onto their sleeve. They have to keep moving.

“How do you know where we’re _going,_ it’s so—“

“We’re going to the recruitment desk. That’s where we’ll find whoever summoned us.”

“Okay, but—ah! Can we just—ouch! Sorry!— _Black!_ ”

“What?”

“Can we just—oh, god— _stop!”_

A surprisingly strong pull throws them off balance, sending them stumbling into a section of corridor.

“ _What?_ ”

Purple tightens their grip on their sleeve. “ _Stop._ I get that this is—a huge _fucking_ mess and I have _no_ idea what’s going on either but you _have_ to slow down. Storming through the halls like that isn’t going to help anything get better.”

They glance around furtively before taking a step closer.

“I’m scared too,” they whisper, “and I know that might…not mean much to you but you’re not…you’re not alone, okay? I’m here too. And if you keep walking that fast I’m not gonna be able to keep up with you.”

Black bites back a curse. Too focused on making sure they got out fast, not nearly focused enough on _Purple._

“I didn’t hurt you,” they ask sheepishly, laying a hand on their shoulder, “did I?”

“No, no, I’m…I’m fine. Just…I’m short, okay? One of your steps is like… _four_ of mine.”

“…you _are_ quite short.”

“Hey!”

“Even for a juvenile.”

They chuckle as Purple thwacks their shoulder.

“Just because _you’re_ a giant doesn’t mean I’m _tiny._ ”

“Come on,” Black says, letting Purple take their hand, “I won’t walk so fast.”

The hub sprawls out in a mass of corridors all converging on the recruitment center. Purple presses a little closer as the crowds spill around them. Black glances around for a spot of quiet.

“Wait here,” they say as they draw alongside somewhere hidden, “I’m going to go look at which ships are in dock. That might give us a clue.”

“Okay.”

Black moves off into the crowd, instinctively shrugging on the head-down, rushed posture of so many of the other crewmates. They glance around. No other Impostors jump out at them, but spotting an Impostor in a crowd like this is a near impossibility at any rate. Instead, they make their way to the assignment boards.

Nothing for either of their IDs. So then…

Black stifles a snarl and turns around, eyes scanning the crowd. Why would Red ask them to go to the recruitment desk if they have no assignment? The only people that come here are going to be assigned immediately, everyone…knows…that…

_Shit._

A few crewmates make noises of protest as Black dives back into the crowd. They ignore them, swerving around the outside of the crowd and losing themselves in the people packed against the walls. They bite back another curse for letting themselves leave Purple behind. Alone.

They must be getting slow.

The second they catch sight of Purple with not one but _two_ people next to them, they rush forward. They catch a scent off the lime one _holding Purple’s hand._

_Don’t you fucking dare._

Purple startles as they step forward out of the crowd, gaze trained on the weak point at the back of Lime’s head. Lime turns.

“Ah, _there_ you are.”

_Stay the fuck away from Purple._

“You must be Lime’s contact,” the human in the yellow suit says smoothly, holding out their own hand, “it’s good to meet you. I’m Yellow.”

They take Yellow’s hand slowly, looking them up and down. Human. “Black.”

“We will see you later.” Lime turns away from Purple—good—and leans closer. “We have much to discuss.”

Black looks at Purple. Purple does not move to follow. Black snarls.

“Is Purple not coming?”

“No.”

_Not on my watch._ “Purple?”

“You can go,” Purple says quickly, glancing at Yellow, “I’m—I’ll be okay.”

Black looks at Yellow.

“This is—they’re my former Captain,” Purple says, “I’ll be alright.”

_Your last captain wasn’t exactly the nicest to you, Purple._ But as Black looks back and forth between them, they see Purple edge a little bit closer to Yellow and Yellow—seemingly unaware that they do it—steps in front of them, shielding them behind their suit.

Well, if Purple trusts them…

Black nods and turns, following Lime through the maze of MIRAHQ. Lime turns swiftly around the corridor that will take them to the dropship. They close the elevator door and they start up, climbing the outside of the towers.

They step off before the dropship, into a dark gray corridor. Lime scans a badge and opens a door into a room with a giant monitor. As Black watches, they click a few keys, and the screen flares to life, sensor readouts covering the display.

“I’ll radio to Polus that you’ve arrived,” Lime says, hands already flurrying over the keyboard, “and that Purple is secure.”

“Are they?”

“You heard them. They’re with their former captain.”

Black scoffs. “That doesn’t assure their safety.”

Lime pauses, glancing over their shoulder.

“You know,” they say, turning back to their screens, “I didn’t believe that you were the one they were sending.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been in this position for a while. I’ve seen you come and go through the hub on your missions. And I’m sure you’re getting sick of hearing it, but your reputation proceeds you.”

“If I have such a reputation,” Black mutters, “you’d _think_ people would start trusting my judgment.”

“They do.” Lime sits down, swiveling around to look at them. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Why _am_ I here?”

“What did Red tell you?”

Black folds their arms. “This is a recon mission. No kills, no sabotages, just gather information.”

“And what _else_ did they tell you?”

Black stares down at Lime, who tilts their head.

“What?”

“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to say.”

“You are.”

“And how can I believe you?”

“Because you still technically outrank me,” Lime replies easily, sitting back in their chair, “ _and_ the fact that you don’t believe me says a lot about what you think.”

“…I was told to meet Red’s contact. I was not told the exact specifications of the mission.”

Lime nods. They glance at the readouts. Black scans them as well, noting the patterns of which ones appear in red.

_Three more. At least._

“Did they ask you,” Lime says, looking back, “about the war?”

“How so?”

“What you think of it.”

“They did.”

“And what did you say?” When Black remains silent, Lime sighs. “Look, this isn’t the time to clam up.”

“Speaking this is treason.”

“Only if what you think is treasonous,” Lime says softly, “so…what do you think?”

Black sighs. What _do_ they think?

They think there is blood on their hands so thick it will never wash off.

They think there are screams and cries they can still hear when they let themselves stop.

They think that every time they shift into a humanoid shape, they forget a little bit more about what it was like before this war.

They think that if they have to watch another child ripped apart they’ll never sleep again.

They think that if they have to watch one more corpse freeze slowly to death in the vacuum of space, they’ll never be able to set foot on another ship.

They think that if this keeps up the way it has been, there won’t be a Polus to go home to.

They think that if this war keeps going, people like Purple may not exist anymore.

“…I think I’m tired.”

Lime stares at them in a way that _immediately_ tells Black that they know what Black’s thinking. They nod sharply.

“Most of the work will happen during the night cycle when there’s less chance that we’ll be spotted and we can cover all the bases.” They nod to the screen. “I’ve got the readouts. We’ll have someone on cams, someone else on the bay entrance, and a couple more on security shifts.”

Black straightens their shoulders. An all-Impostor shift? Base-wide? How _long_ has Polus—has _Red_ been planning this?

And _what_ are they going to do?

“What will I do?”

Lime looks back. “…the most important thing.”

* * *

_They wait until the next day — Cassava assures Pyro baking is a full-day affair — and Cassava takes her basket with her so she can bring home enough food for two loaves and four pies. The pies are a lot smaller than a loaf, you know.  
  
Pyro’s waiting for her when she gets to the clearing. The dragon is looking nervously around the clearing. It’s the first time Cassava’s seen Pyro outside the bush, which is now more a collection of twigs than a bush now that winter is almost here, but looks quickly in her direction when she scurries up.   
  
“You’re out of the bush!” Cassava takes the time to examine its wing. “And your wing’s looking much better.”  
  
“Yes, it has almost healed.” Pyro bows its head. “Thank you, Cassava Mouse.”  
  
Cassava doesn’t really want to have a repeat of their previous discussion where she explained she’s happy to help, so she says: “You’re welcome.” Like a polite mouse would. “Can you help me gather the things we’ll need to bake today?”  
  
Pyro nods. She directs them to the cluster of nuts and smaller berries under the bigger trees around the clearing, using Pyro to scurry up to the little cracks in bark to grab more. When she’s packed her basket full and Pyro’s been outside enough to feel a little more confident moving around, she hops down and begins the scurry back to her burrow. Pyro follows slowly; she’s much faster on her little mouse legs. Pyro’s legs stick out to the side as opposed to right under its body, but they make it back to the root of the Fogmoss Tree without too much trouble. She can see her little acorn caps where she’s set them out for her water and the little curtain pulled over the window to her kitchen. She’s about to scurry inside when she notices Pyro’s still staring up at the Fogmoss Tree, the green reflecting in its amber eyes.   
  
The dragon’s wings flop gently against the ground. Cassava scurries back to its side and looks up.   
  
“What is it?”  
  
“The branches…” Pyro rumbles, “they are covered in green. They are so…alive. And the air around them! It is like looking at something being created from nothing. It is incredible.”  
  
They sit in the grass between the clearing and the Fogmoss Tree, watching the mist curl over the branches and the moss.   
  
When the sun rises up high in the sky, the mist dissipates, and they go inside. Pyro holds its wings close to its body and stops in the space by the entrance. Cassava drops the basket near her kitchen and starts to pull out the leaves and acorns to mix everything together. She stops when she sees Pyro hasn’t moved.   
  
“You described your burrow in great detail me,” it rumbles, “but you did not mention that it was so…safe.”  
  
Cassava feels her little mouse heart race again. The fact that Pyro just arrived and it feels safe in here after the nights spent in the bush is…well, Cassava’s not sure what to call it.   
  
“Do you want to start baking now?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Pyro says. Joining her by the stove, careful of its wingspan, the dragon watches eagerly as Cassava dices the nuts and mashes the berries into a filling she pours into the acorns. _

_When she’s finished separating the mixture, she selects one of them and turns to Pyro. She holds it between her paws. “Will you help me finish it now, please?”_

_Pyro nods. “It will be best if we go outside; I do not wish to damage anything of yours.”_

_She scurries to follow the dragon out. It motions for her to set the pie in a small pile of dirt. She does so._

_“Please, stay out of the way. I do not wish to harm you either.” Pyro lowers its neck so she can crawl into the nestle of its back. She clutches the little spines the run along the length of its body and waits. A low thwoompth sound followed by a rush of warmth along Pyro’s body lasts for a few seconds, then everything is still again._

_“As I am not experienced in the art of pie baking, I am not sure if this is satisfactory,” Pyro muses as it lowers her to the ground, “however, I have tried to replicate the state of the one you so kindly brought me yesterday.”_

_Cassava scurries forwards. It’s perfect: the berry-and-nut filling is bubbling slightly, the acorn is toasted to a firm crisp, and the pie is browned at the edges._

_“This is amazing!” She squeaks, holding it up for Pyro to see. “Thank you!”_

_“Of course, Cassava Mouse,” Pyro says, “my pleasure. Shall we continue with the next ones?”_

_They quickly make the rest of the pies and the acorn loaves. Cassava suggests making a leaf pot of moss tea but Pyro points out the fire would cook the acorn mug too — they’re better off using the sun’s warmth for that. So Cassava scurries onto Pyro’s back and the two of them climb the Fogmoss Tree to pick some of the moss on the lower branches. She mixes it into the leaf pouches and places them in acorn caps of water and sets them out on the ledge to steep._

_“Cassava Mouse? Cassava Mouse!” Pyro’s scared voice makes her scurry back._

_“What’s wrong?” She looks around. Has a branch fallen? Is something wrong with Pyro’s wing again?_

_“I…” the dragon bows its head, embarrassed, “I could not see you. I feared you had fallen, or you had gone away. I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”_

_“Oh,” Cassava chitters, “it’s okay! I used to play a game with my grand-mouse like that, I would hide and she would come and find me. She used to pretend she was scared, but she wasn’t. I’m sorry about that!”_

_“Do not apologize,” Pyro says, “your game does sound interesting.”_

_“Would you like to play?”_

_“Alright.”_

_“Okay, close your eyes and count to ten.”_

_Pyro does as bid, tucking its head under its wing and counting. Cassava scurries back up into the roots, poking her head between two of them to watch Pyro straighten and begin looking around. The dragon walks towards the banks of the Draymack River, sniffs around, before turning and looking back at the roots of the tree. Cassava squeaks when a claw nudges her._

_“Found you,” Pyro says, looking down at the little mouse, “you were correct. This is a fun game.”_

_“Your turn to hide now!” Cassava covers her eyes with her paws and counts._

_“One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten!”_

_She opens her eyes and looks around. She can’t see Pyro in the roots, and she can’t see anything by the banks of the Draymack River. Then she looks up._

_“Found you!”_

_Pyro lay across one of the branches, head and body pressing against the moss. “Forgive me,” the dragon rumbles, “I was trying to climb up into the branches, but this moss is so soft that I did not want to move.” It stretches lazily. “I shall count now.”_

_They keep playing, Cassava hiding in the leaf piles and roots, Pyro sitting next to larger rocks and under roots, until one time, Cassava can’t find Pyro anywhere. She checks her burrow, she scurries up the Fogmoss Tree, the dragon isn’t anywhere. Slightly worried, she scurries to the Draymack River._

_“Pyro! I can’t find you, where are you?” She calls for her friend, her little mouse voice carrying down the water and across the forest. Then little bubbles appear in the water below her._

_She squeaks and tumbles away from the bank. When she looks up again, it’s Pyro, looking at her with those amber eyes and his head tilted to the side._

_“Hello, Cassava Mouse.”_

_“Pyro!”_

_The dragon clambers out of the water and shakes itself off. The problem is, it shakes a little too hard and it’s sent tumbling across the muddy bank, right into Cassava. They roll through the grass back towards the burrow. They end up in a heap next to the entrance, below the ledge where their cups of tea sit waiting patiently._

_“That was fun!”_

_“Yes,” Pyro agrees, “though I do believe I am now quite thirsty.”_

_“You were just underwater!”_

_“Yes, but I was hiding, not drinking.”_

_They laugh and go inside, Pyro curling up as Cassava hands out the mugs. They drink in quiet, listening to the breeze as it ruffles the leaves of the Fogmoss Tree and the water as it flows over the rocks in the Draymack River. When the sun dips below the riverbanks, Pyro sets down the mug and stands._

_“Thank you for today, Cassava Mouse. I will not soon forget it, but I am afraid I must go now. I must find somewhere else to sleep now that the winters are coming.”_

_“Wait!” Cassava chitters as the dragon goes to leave. “You can stay here!”_

_Pyro turns back. “What?”_

_“If you need someplace to stay, my burrow is large enough for both of us,” Cassava explains, “and it would be nice to have someone to share the winters with.”_

_As she talks, she realizes how true it is. She likes her burrow, but in the winters, when the nights are long and it’s cold and she doesn’t go outside, she misses the warmth. And when Pyro said it felt safe in her burrow, it was warm._

_She wants Pyro to stay._

_“Are you sure, Cassava Mouse?” Pyro asks._

_“Yes,” Cassava says, “please stay.”_

_“Alright,” Pyro rumbles softly, “I will stay. Thank you.”_

_And when the winters come, and Cassava is curled under her patchwork quilt, Pyro settles in next to her, lifting a wing to cuddle her against its side. And she feels safe, tucked up against this thrumming warmth that wraps around her._

_Here, the wind can’t get either of them._

* * *

It’s the middle of the night cycle.

MIRAHQ, the place that never sleeps, is all but deserted. There are no ships on active assignments. The halls are silent. The formerly-bustling hub is a near ghost town. The lights are turned down, the few illuminated desks still beacons in the darkness.

In the dim light, Black and Lime descend the elevator into the very bowels of the tower.

The Impostor at the security desk gives them a sharp nod, swiping them through to the restricted area. The red emergency lights appear every five paces, leading down even further, past doors with warning symbols and signs that advertise strict safety protocols. They round another corner, past the decontamination chamber, into a side hallway where the last camera sits blinking, pointed the opposite way.

Lime swipes their badge. Black glances over their shoulder. The corridor is silent save for the soft _flick_ of their card in the reader. A second later, the red light flares green.

Black takes a deep breath as the door opens. They step forward. Lime does not.

“…good luck,” they say quietly as they disappear into the shadows.

Black walks forward, toward another door at the end of the hallway. The room behind it is the only lit one they have seen in a long time. They take a deep breath and push the door open.

The room is small. A single table sits in the middle with two chairs, one either side. There are no windows, no decor, nothing. A bare box.

In the other chair, a human sits. They wear no suit, just a simple uniform. They stand as the door opens.

“Black.”

Black lets the door close behind them.

The human motions to the other chair. “Sit.”

They sit, watching as Black walks over, never taking their eyes off them until Black sits down. They fold their hands on the table.

“Did Lime tell you who I am?”

“They called you the Ambassador.”

The Ambassador nods. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“No.” Black never takes their eyes off the human’s face. “Lime brought me here. I was not aware that this was a…meeting.”

The Ambassador quirks an eyebrow and indicates the door with a nod. “No one is keeping you here. You’re more than welcome to leave.”

Black huffs, shifting to lay one arm on the table. “After all the effort it took me to get here? No. You want to talk? Then talk, human.”

The Ambassador’s mouth quirks. They shift. “What would you like me to say? That it’s a pleasure to meet you?”

“You want something.”

“I do.”

“Then _talk._ ”

The Ambassador nods. “Very well. Polus is a valuable mining outpost for us. The resources we are able to gain from the planet’s surface are key components of our ability to operate inter-spatially. Surely you can understand that we would do anything to preserve that.”

“Polus is our home,” Black replies, “surely _you_ can understand that we will not simply _yield_ it to you.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything,” the Ambassador asks, spreading their hands, “when we first arrived?”

“We tried.” Black’s fist clenches. “You slaughtered us.”

The Ambassador does not flinch. “So your course of action was to simply declare war? Without making any additional effort to contact us through the proper channels?”

“We _had_ no access to the proper channels,” Black growls, “as well _you_ know. You left us no choice. This—“ they gesture to their disguise— “was the only way to _get_ you to listen.”

“Your ‘way of making us listen’ was to infiltrate our ships and murder our people without mercy.” The Ambassador gives Black a disapproving look. “That doesn’t sound very much like getting us to listen.”

Black’s shoulders stiffen. “Your response to us was to keep us a secret. To limit your people’s knowledge of us, reducing us to monster scurrying around in the dark.”

The Ambassador shrugs. They _shrug._

“At least admit that you don’t care as much about your people as you like to think,” Black says lowly, remembering Purple’s shocked realization at what was happening, “you’re just throwing bodies into this without a care as to who they are.”

The Ambassador simply raises an eyebrow as Black shifts to stare at them head-on.

“They’re just pawns to you, aren’t they? Just so you can keep making your money, making your own pockets grow fat.”

A _horrible_ smile crosses the Ambassador’s face. “You’re one to talk about pawns.”

Black tilts their head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Purple.”

Black goes _still._ The Ambassador’s smirk widens.

“What do you mean,” Black asks in a soft, dangerous voice, “‘Purple?’”

“Young. Eager to please. Brilliant. Capable.” The Ambassador leans forward onto the desk. “Too forgiving. _Still_ a child in so many ways.”

Underneath the table, Black’s maw starts to snarl. “Enough _.”_

“Reliant and submissive to authority figures,” the Ambassador continues, venom dripping from every word, “they may as well have had a _sign_ around their neck.”

Black’s fist clenches. “ _Enough._ ”

“If you think the rest of us will be that weak and roll over like cowards,” the Ambassador hisses, “then you’re as stupid as they are.”

Little piece of advice: don’t insult Purple in front of Black. It won’t end well for you.

Rage explodes in Black’s chest and they don’t bother hide the snarl of their maw as it rends their disguise in half. The Ambassador’s face contorts in anger as Black’s grip on the table tightens so much the metal creaks.

“Purple is _not_ stupid,” they snarl, “they are not a _pawn,_ and they are not a _coward._ They’re braver than any of you are because they were _scared_ and they still had the strength to be compassionate and kind and _listen,_ which is a damn sight near better than the rest of you.”

They lean across the table and growl.

“If you think that’s weakness then they’re the strongest out of any of you.”

The Ambassador scoffs. “If you think kindness is strength—“

“If you _don’t_ think kindness is strength—“

“This is not a world that rewards kindness!”

“But it could be!”

Silence.

The Ambassador sits back slowly, their eyes still trained on Black.

“This war,” Black says lowly, “has cost us _both_ so many of our people. And it’s not going anywhere. The longer it goes on, the more people will die. The less people will be _willing_ to listen.”

They sit back as well, still gripping the table.

“The less people like Purple there will be,” they continue, quieter, “the more _children_ will die. Stop sending children to fight and die in your war for you.”

“War makes people strong—“

“War makes people broken and scared.”

“If children aren’t made strong they’ll never survive.”

“They’re _children._ They don’t need to be strong, they need to be _safe._ ”

The Ambassador blinks. In an instant, their demeanor changes completely, the anger disappearing from their face, replaced by a softer smile.

Black huffs quietly, letting go of the table.

“…well played, Yellow.”

“Well spoken yourself,” Yellow replies, nodding respectfully.

“So I take it you also don’t agree with the bullshit you just said.”

“Oh, not even remotely.”

“Good.”

Yellow chuckles, shifting in their chair. Black allows themselves to relax a little as well, watching as Yellow looks away, their expression growing solemn.

“When I first found out,” they begin, “about what was happening, I was shocked. My first act was to try and make contact with your people, find out what could be done, how to stop it.”

Black’s eyes widen in shock. Yellow looks up, regret coloring their expression.

“…it didn’t work.”

Yellow shakes their head. “The higher-ups stopped me. But I never stopped trying.”

“My guess is they will continue to try and stop you.”

A small smile crosses Yellow’s face. “And _my_ guess is there’s a lot more of us than they think.”

Black finds themselves smiling too.

Yellow stands, holding out their hand. Black takes it, shaking it firmly. It feels…different. Not bad, just different. Then again, a lot of things have been different lately.

“Yellow.”

“Black.”

Yellow lets go, stepping away. They leave the room, walking back along the corridor. They pass the Impostor at the security desk, who nods at both of them. None of the others look twice at an unsuited human and an Impostor walking side by side. Deep in the bowels of MIRAHQ, something has started to change.

As they reach the elevator, Black turns to Yellow. “…humor me. I’m sure you know that most of my people, in my position, would’ve tried to kill you.”

“With the utmost respect, many have.”

Black tilts their head. “How did you know you could trust me?”

Yellow chuckles. “Well, I’ve learned to trust Purple’s judgment.”

“As have I.”

* * *

_One day, when Cassava wakes up, her nose twitches in the air. Spring._

_“Pyro!” Cassava squeaks, nudging the dragon awake, “it’s spring!”_

_“How do you know, Cassava Mouse?” Pyro asks, voice even more gravelly from sleep._

_“I can smell it. Come on!” They hurry to the entrance of the burrow and look out._

_The Fogmoss Tree is covered in new moss, growing in the crevices of the bark. The river is flowing swiftly around the rocks amidst the rocks and bare mud. And everywhere is the sweet, sharp smell of frost and growing leaves._

_Pyro flexes its wings and the old twig, grown dry over the long winter, snaps. They watch as the wood splinters._

_“My wings…” Pyro tests them. “They are healed. I can…”_

_The dragon steps away from the burrow and flaps. A gust of wind sends the little seedlings tumbling across the dirt as Pyro rises into the air._

_“I can fly again!”_

_“You can fly again!”_

_They laugh excitedly and Pyro swoops in joy. Cassava claps her paws together. “Come on, I’ll make you some blueberry-rose tea.”_

_Every day, Pyro builds its strength, flying for longer and longer. It’s fine with Cassava; she likes to watch the dragon fly. And it helps her gather more food and carry greater amounts. In the evenings, they bake together and enjoy a cup of tea. Pyro takes to sleeping on one of the moss-covered branches outside — it gets warm in the spring next to a dragon, you know._

_But one day, when Cassava scurries outside to fetch her water, Pyro’s not there. She looks in the burrow. Not there. She scurries to the clearing and peers under the bushes. Not there. She even looks up and down the Draymack River. Not there._

_She knew Pyro wanted to go home, but she thought at least he’d say goodbye first._

_“Cassava Mouse?”_

_Pyro! She looks up as the dragon lands next to her, dropping the roses and blueberries from its mouth. “Are you alright?”_

_“Pyro!” She can’t say anything other than the dragon’s name again, scurrying forward and wrapping her tiny forelegs around its neck. Pyro rests its head against her and shelters them with its wings._

_“What is wrong? Did something happen?”_

_“I thought you went home,” Cassava confesses, squeaking sadly, “back to your cave.”_

_“Without saying goodbye?”_

_She nods. Pyro shakes its head firmly._

_“I would never do that to you. I woke earlier than you and decided to go see if the bushes had sprouted any fruit yet. I found a few that I wanted to bring back.” Pyro bows to indicate the gifts dropped at Cassava’s feet. “And to thank you for letting me stay.”_

_Cassava doesn’t speak. Her little mouse throat is too overwhelmed so she gathers the things in her paws and makes to go back inside._

_“Cassava Mouse?”_

_She looks back. Pyro’s staring puzzled at the ground._

_“Is it not customary, when one lives in a certain place for a while, to call that place one’s home?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And one can share a home with another, correct?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then,” Pyro rumbles quietly as its head inclines toward Cassava, “is my home not here with you?”_

_Home._

_“Yes,” Cassava Mouse says, resting her paw on Pyro’s front claw, “this is your home.”_

_And now, in the mornings, when the fog swirls around the Fogmoss Tree, Cassava Mouse scurries out to fetch the acorn caps filled with the dew of the branches, and to see Pyro stretching in the sun. She fetches the water and goes inside to store it away, and then she goes back outside and climbs on Pyro’s back._

_They fly to their favorite foraging patch and gather nuts, berries, and flower petals to make their tea, jam, and pies. They’ve discovered lilac-and-bark jam is almost as good as blueberry-rose jam, if not better. They also fly high up into the Fogmoss Tree and the trees around the clearing to gather acorns. They’re much better when you get them straight from the branches, you know._

_When they’ve finished gathering food and baking what they need for the days ahead, they clean the burrow. Cassava uses her broom to sweep all the branches and twigs and dirt to the entrance, and Pyro blows it away with a flap of its wings. Cassava also uses Pyro’s tail to pick up her pieces of furniture to get the art out from under them. Pyro likes polishing the coin she uses as her table. Sometimes she’ll catch the dragon staring at its reflection in the metal or cuddling it protectively._

_In the afternoons, they like to play hide-and-seek. Pyro’s favorite spot is to hide under a bush or a root and fold its wings over its head so it looks like part of the tree or boulder. Cassava’s favorite spot is to scurry into a hollowed root or bury herself in a leaf pile._

_Then when the sun is lower in the sky, Cassava scurries up to the top of her root and Pyro lands beside her. They watch the leaves fall down into the Draymack River, keeping an eye on them as they drift down until they’re out of sight. Sometimes, if it’s especially hot, Pyro will swim down the river too, pretending to be a leaf. Cassava rides on its back and the two of them follow a twig down the river._

_And in the winters, when it’s cold and the winds blow hard, they curl up in the burrow under the patchwork quilt and dream of spring._

* * *

Time passes. Meetings are held. More and more Impostors start to join them, along with more humans. Lime keeps Black updated with news from Polus, transmissions from Red, and in turn, Black passes coded messages to inform them of the progress. There are still Impostors coming on missions through MIRAHQ, still sudden suspicious deaths reported from the very highest level of the tower. But the meetings still happen, in the dark of the night cycle, in the belly of MIRAHQ.

It’s slow going. There are too many open wounds to discuss cleanly. They have to move in secret, under the noses of the other Impostors and the humans in charge. Red says that they’re still not sure how much the others will agree with what they’re trying to do, but _they_ believe in trying to seek peace over war.

Black tries. They would be lying if they said their maw didn’t stir when they met with the humans, that being here is not a fight every second they aren’t doing what they were trained to do. And there’s only so much they can do, only so much that they can share.

Eventually, it is decided that a secret diplomatic mission will be sent to Polus. Yellow’s ship, the Ashton, will be travel to the outpost under the guise of investigating the base, when in reality, they will meet with Red to hold further discussions. Yellow makes a formal request for Black to join them, one that Black accepts.

“I promise,” Yellow says as the transfer order takes place, “that I will seek to right the wrongs committed against your people.”

Black nods. The mission will leave in a few days.

The day before, they go to find Purple. In the mess of all the meetings, having to stay quiet, under the radar, they haven’t had much contact with anyone outside the very small circle permitted to know what’s going on. Their contact with Purple has been limited to messages, often one-word, checking in.

Purple is on one of the observation decks, looking out of MIRAHQ up into the sky. The faintest view of one of the orbiting ships passes overhead as many small transport ships zoom upwards. They turn when they notice Black out of the corner of their eye.

“Purple.”

“Hello, Black.” Purple tilts their head. “I take it the…talks are going well?”

Black nods. “Better than I had anticipated.”

“I’m glad.” They look out the window. “This deserves to go well.”

“May I join you?”

“There’s plenty of window to go around.”

Black stands at their side, looking out. The clouds gather a few floors down at the outside of the tower, the sleek building rising up from the surface. As they look, the clouds part in front of the sun, streaming golden light across the cloudscape, gleaming off the ships, in through the window.

“Since I don’t have an assignment anymore,” Purple says after a moment, “I’m up for relocation.”

Black glances over. “…well I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of new opportunities.”

“I know, but…I think I’m going with an old one.” At Black’s questioning noise, Purple looks up at them. “I asked Yellow if I could come back to the Ashton.”

“The Ashton?”

“Yeah, I think…” Purple’s voice grows a little quieter. “I think I can figure out how to feel safe there.”

“I’m sure Yellow is thrilled.”

“They sounded like it.”

“When does the order go through?”

“Should be any day now.”

Purple’s…standing up a little taller. Black smiles privately.

Confidence looks good on them.

“There’s a mission,” Black says after a moment, “on board the Ashton. Going to Polus.”

“I know.” Purple glances over. “I’ve been asked to come.”

“As have I.”

“Are you going?”

“I am.” Black looks down at them. “…are you?”

Purple’s voice warms. “I would be honored to come.”

“And I would be honored to have you there.”

They look back out the window, returning their gaze to the clouds outside. Black watches them, their maw purring, their chest growing warm.

_“After all you have experienced, can you still be so sure?”_

Little Purple…

Black is no rookie. They’ve lived in the war for as long as they can remember. They are no stranger to cruelty, to darkness, to cold distrust and burning hatred.

And yet here they are, looking for peace, on the deck of MIRAHQ, thanks to the kindness of one little human.

_The world is not a kind place, but it could be._

There’s a moment of silence between them as the situation sinks in. All of this is new…so new, and utterly _terrifying._

A familiar scent hits Black and without thinking, they reach out, offering their hand. Purple’s smaller hand winds through theirs, holding it tight.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing,” Purple says quietly.

Black gives their hand a squeeze. “Neither do I.”

“Are you scared too?”

“…yes, I’m scared too.” Black looks down. “But you’ve taught me that that doesn’t mean I can’t do it anyway.”

Purple looks back up at them. There’s a moment of silence as the outside noise fades, leaving them in their own little bubble near the window. Black squeezes Purple’s hand.

“…was it Yellow,” they guess, “that said it to you?”

“Said what?”

“‘We’re all tiny insignificant specks in an indifferent universe—‘”

“’—but that doesn’t mean we can’t get ice cream,’” Purple finishes with a laugh, “yes, yes it was.”

Black chuckles. “I see.”

“…they’re not wrong. There’s very little a milkshake can’t cheer you up from.”

Black tilts their head, thinking.

“…you know, I don’t think I’ve ever _had_ a milkshake.”

Purple tugs their hand, pulling them along.

“Right this way, then.”

_\- [Wishing to be friends is quick work,_

_but friendship is a slow ripening fruit.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! I'm so glad you guys all came on this journey with me. I'm so happy to keep this world going with more of these characters...perhaps ;)
> 
> (also yellow and black totally agreed to co-parent purple and we all know it)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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